I need help, man. I don't know what's going on.
I'm scared. None of this makes sense.
It just can't be real. I'm sorry.
I'm panicking. I never expected something so
terrifying and crazy. What happened to me?
It's currently 132 in the morning.
Just under an hour ago I couldn't sleep and decided to go
out for a smoke. I rolled my spliff.
I went to the back door and unlocked it.
As I opened the door and stepped out, I did realize something was
slightly off. When I couldn't hear anything
outside, the blood rushing in my ears suddenly deafening, I
brushed it off and sat down. It was almost pitch black
outside, but my eyes would adjust as I lit up.
I began to hear something around the corner, directly opposite
the side of the house from where I was.
It was like this movement it sounded.
Kind of clumsy. It was uneven and would stop and
start. I was put on edge by it, but
stayed out there listening to it.
It eventually got closer. I could hear it shifting
surfaces and making a different sound, going from grass and
leaves to the tiles around my house, meaning whatever it was
was much, much closer than I had realized.
My heart dropped. Deciding I'd had enough of this,
I put out my spliff and went to go inside, looking in the
direction of the back door. I froze, peeking around the
corner. Was a face and hands just
staring at me. It looked eerily familiar, but
the darkness obscured the face enough to where I couldn't tell
whose face it was. I dared not move a muscle.
Unintentionally beginning a starting contest from hell, I
began to think of an escape route.
I could run away from the back door, hop the fence, and run to
my front door instead. The only problem was that the
back door was still unlocked from when I left.
I took my chances, and in a split second.
Turned and booked it for the fence, hearing footsteps almost
immediately heading towards me at a terrifying inhuman pace.
I screamed as I ran. By some miracle, the footsteps
didn't advance enough to catch me, and I made it to my front
door, only to realize too late that I needed my keys to get in.
I spun around, expecting the worst, only to find not much
better the whoever, whatever it was, was staring at me again
from around the corner. They peeked their head and hands
out. I couldn't tell if they were
someone I could take in a fight or not, because they were
obscured by my house in the darkness of the night.
But the eyes they know it stared at me with they bore into me.
They were utterly terrifying, inhuman, predatory eyes.
I stared back at whatever it was not daring to break eye contact,
and tried to remember where my keys were.
They were either at the back of the house where I was sitting,
or they were inside, in which case I would have to go in
through the back door anyway. Both outcomes meant I was
slightly screwed. I stared at this horrible thing.
The tension hung thick in the air and the total silence didn't
help. I prayed to whatever deity that
I would make it back safely. Starting to slightly lose hope
but desperately not wanting to admit it, I frantically thought
of any kind of solution. I slowly moved my arms down to
my pockets for any salvation. When I felt my keys, they were
on my belt loop the whole time. I moved as slowly as I possibly
could as to not make any noise and set it off, still silently
praying for this to all be a nightmare.
With my back still turned to the door, I slowly felt for the
keyhole. I took my keys, raised them to
the door and psyching myself up, turned the key, swung the door
open, removed the key, and slammed the door shut behind me.
I fell to the floor the second I got in, I didn't realize I was
sweating until I was inside and drenched in it.
I slowly gathered myself to get up.
I planned to go straight to bed, exhausted from the situation in
the day beforehand, but it wasn't over.
A tapping sounded from the window right next to the door.
My heart sank once again. I didn't want to look, and I
couldn't tell you why, but I did look.
Inside was just as dark, but I could see from the slightly
brighter sky the silhouette of that thing standing right
outside the window. I felt its gaze burning into me
with pure seething anger. Within a matter of seconds
though, it backed away from the window and walked off.
Its footsteps became quieter. I was relieved again, until I
realized it walked off in the direction of the back door.
My heart dropped once more. I had to get there first.
I scrambled to my feet and bolted through rooms towards the
back door, silently praying again as I ran.
As I got closer to the door, I heard it's terrifyingly fast
footsteps on the tiles outside. I dove towards the door and
turned the key that was thankfully already there.
As soon as I twisted the key enough for it to just about be
locked, footsteps sounded from behind the door and the handle
started turning wildly. I barely made it in time.
I was relieved once more, almost collapsing on the floor right
then and there. I decided to check the rest of
the doors and windows through the house.
I returned to the back door once I was satisfied to double check
everything, and I did double check it.
Everything was in order. So I went to leave for bed
again. Yet I was stopped again, this
time by a voice. Hey, it spoke.
I froze. The voice was weird.
I can't describe it well. It was a familiar voice, like a
friend or something, but innately wrong.
The pitch was inconsistent. It sounded warped and unnatural.
You open the door. I jumped at the raised voice it
used for the last word. It sounded pieced together.
Like words from a song that might make sense next to each
other, but when taken from different parts of the song, it
sounds weird. I was completely frozen in place
by the voice, unsure of my next move.
What I really wasn't expecting though, was for my cat's meow to
come from the cat flap, all distorted and wrong again.
It made me want to cry, hearing that I knew my cat was upstairs.
He was sleeping deeply on my bed when I left him.
I knelt down and without looking at the plastic window.
Tried to lock it. I was completely caught off
guard when a hand shot through the cat flap and tried to grab
me. Thank God it missed me.
I jumped back and stared at the dark shape of a disgustingly
long arm, feeling around for me. It moved in a truly unnatural
way, like a giant serpent frantically looking for food.
It made me feel sick watching it.
Another distorted meow came from the door and failed to lure me
to it when it didn't find me. It felt its way up the door,
towards the handle and the key that was still in the lock.
Without hesitation, I leaped towards it, snatched the key out
of the door and fell back out of its reach.
Again, I seemed to anger it by doing that.
You. It shouted at me.
This is going to hurt. Its words unnerved me.
It was being patient earlier. I wondered if it could have
killed me outside. The arm finally slithered back
outside, its face replacing it. I wasn't sure which was worse.
I'm going to get in. The last phrase sounded like
someone calling from across the room after someone knocks on the
door. It was then that I realized why
the voice was so familiar. It was my voice.
A wave of nausea washed over me. I wanted to be sick.
I ran to the bathroom but stopped in the doorway.
The urge to throw up melted away as I looked at the canister of
Hairspray. I took it with me back to that
thing. Its head was pushing the cat
flap open when I got there. It was still too dark to see in
detail, but I saw my target. I pulled out my lighter and lit
it in front of the canister. The slight glow from the flame
lit up the room, just enough for me to see.
I wouldn't have looked at its face, given the choice, but I
was already looking at it. When I sparked the lighter, I
was looking at my own face. It looked back at me.
My heart dropped yet again. Then it smiled at me, a smile
too wide for a human. Its face was wrong in so many
ways, yet it was still my own face.
I didn't understand what made it so unnatural, but it scared me.
After finally snapping out of it, I jammed down on the
Hairspray. A giant roaring fireball lit up
the room in orange and landed straight in its face.
It screeched in pain in my voice, but didn't back away.
I felt the hatred in its glare. I sprayed it again and it
screeched again. This time, though, it twisted
and contorted, its body slowly fitting through the tiny cat
flap. Panic immediately set in.
I sprayed it for a little too long and burnt my fingers pretty
badly, dropping both my lighter and the Hairspray.
Its face was still on fire for a few seconds after, yet it was
unrelenting. It squeezed and pushed its arms
through. After it had one arm, it used it
to push itself through. It was a horrifying sight,
watching it unnaturally fold and crumple parts of its own body to
get to me. My fight or flight sense finally
took hold of me and sent me sprinting away, shutting all the
doors behind me. I'm currently hidden inside my
wardrobe. There is blood on my phone from
the burns and my fingers are blistering.
I can hear it trashing every room it enters, it shouts and
screams and what I can only assume is frustration.
It keeps speaking in my voice saying things to scare me.
I suppose it's working. I'm scared.
I'm terrified. Please someone help me.
Evenings were our time. Jerry's and mine.
Jerry, my loyal 4 legged companion, had an unwavering
love for these nightly walks, almost as if he could sense the
veil of serenity that draped over our small town after dusk.
It was during these peaceful strolls that we formed an
unspoken pact to leave the days worries behind and bask in the
tranquil coolness of the night. I was just an ordinary man
living an ordinary life in our quiet little town.
Days blurred into weeks and weeks into months.
Filled with mundane routines and familiar faces, But those
twilight hours, they held a kind of magic, a special bond between
Jerry and me. With every rhythmic crunch of
our steps on the gravel path, the stress of the day would
slowly dissipate as the sun sank into its slumber, painting the
sky with hues of Crimson and amber.
I'd leash Jerry up, and off we'd go.
The route was always the same through the heart of our town
down Elm St. And into the trail that twisted
into the dense woods. Along the path, we'd
occasionally catch a deer or two grazing at the edge, their soft
eyes glowing with gentle curiosity.
One night, about three months into our routine, we set out as
usual. The dusk was bleeding into the
inky darkness of night, creating an aura of calmness.
Jerry was trotting ahead, his wet nose picking up countless
scents that were beyond my comprehension as we venture
deeper into the woods. I felt a sudden prickling
sensation at the back of my neck.
I shook it off, attributing it to the chill seeping through my
jacket, but there was an unplaceable unease settling in
my gut, a feeling of being watched.
I glanced over my shoulder, finding only the familiar trail
disappearing into the darkness behind us.
You're just imagining things, I mumbled to myself, attempting to
quell the sudden surge of unease.
Jerry. Who was usually engrossed in his
own world, paused and looked back at me, his eyes reflecting
the moonlight. He tilted his head as if
questioning my anxiety, before returning to his sniffing spree.
We continued our journey, the soft rustling of the trees
comforting in its regularity as we neared the bend that marked
the halfway point of our walk, I couldn't shake the sensation of
being followed. It clung to me like a shadow in
the fading twilight. Growing more palpable with each
passing moment, Suddenly, Jerry froze.
His body became rigid, and a low growl resonated in his throat.
He was staring intently at a spot behind us.
My heart pounded in my chest. The crunching of leaves under
our feet was no longer the only sound piercing the quiet night.
We were no longer alone, and thus our ordinary evening was
about to take an extraordinarily terrifying turn.
Our peaceful nightly routine was shattered.
Jerry was stock still. Every muscle in his body
straining, a low growl resonating in his throat.
He was staring at something behind us.
His ears pricked and tail stiff. Fear crawled up my spine,
gripping me with icy fingers. I turned around, squinting into
the darkness that shrouded the path we had just walked.
And then I saw him. A man stood there, his features
cloaked in the shadows of the trees.
He didn't move, but his presence was undeniable and unwelcome
interruption in our solitude. Something primal surged within
me, a sense of danger that eclipsed any rational thought.
Jerry seemed to mirror my terror, his growl deepening.
I instinctively tugged on his leash, beckoning him to follow
me as I began to retreat. That's when the man started
running toward us. My blood ran cold as I heard the
rapid crunch of leaves under his feet.
The peaceful path that had once brought solace was now a spine
chilling trail of terror. I broke into a Sprint.
Jerry's leash tight in my grip, his snarls echoing in my ears.
Our leisurely walks had turned into a horrifying chase.
The world around me blurred as adrenaline surged through my
veins, pushing me to run faster. My heartbeat was thundering in
my ears, drowning out the chilling sounds of our pursuer.
I didn't dare to look back. I only focused on the dim lights
of our house, peeking through the trees eventually, after what
seemed like an eternity. We emerged from the nightmare of
the woods onto our street. A few more strides and I was
fumbling to unlock the front door, my hands trembling
uncontrollably. We stumbled inside and I slammed
the door shut, leaning against it, gasping for breath.
The once comforting confines of my home now felt like a Fort
under siege. Jerry was pacing anxiously, his
usually bright eyes clouded with fear.
With trembling fingers, I dialed the number that I hoped I'd
never have to use 911. The operators calm voice was a
stark contrast to my frantic explanation.
A man chased USDOT dot, dot in the woods.
My dog and me. I don't know who he was.
My disjointed account was met with assurance that the police
were on their way. As I ended the call, I slid down
to the floor, Jerry pressing his body against mine as if trying
to comfort me or maybe seek some comfort for himself.
The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder in the oppressive
silence. Each second stretching as we
awaited the police. When the officers arrived, they
scoured the area, their flashlights cutting through the
night. But they found no trace of the
stranger who had violated our peace, the man who had turned
our serene night walk into a scene from a Horror Story.
Despite their fruitless search, the police assured me they'd
patrol the area for the night. Their words were meant to
comfort, but they fell on deaf ears.
My heart was still hammering in my chest.
The image of the stranger on the trail seared into my mind.
That night sleep was a distant dream as Jerry and I sat huddled
in the living room. Every shadow felt like a threat,
every noise a warning. Our ordinary evening had been
transformed into a nightmarish reality, a reality we were
forced to confront. The days following our encounter
with the stranger were bathed in an eerie calmness.
It felt as if life was playing a cruel trick on us.
The mundane routines resuming as if nothing had happened.
Jerry and I were rattled to the core, but life went on
relentless and uncaring. In the light of day, the
terrifying chase through the woods seemed like a distant
nightmare. The fear that had once gripped
us was slowly replaced by a fragile sense of safety.
During these daylight hours. I tried to convince myself that
the incident was a one time occurrence, A fluke that had
disrupted our otherwise ordinary lives, but as the sun would set.
The memories would come rushing back and our house would once
again transform into a fortress. Every lock checked twice, every
window sealed tight. For two nights Jerry and I4 went
our routine walks. The once inviting trail now bore
the scars of our terror, the peaceful path warped into a
hunting ground. Instead we spent our evenings
cooped up inside, the television blaring in a desperate attempt
to drown out the oppressive silence.
Jerry was antsy, unused to the confinement.
But he seemed to understand my unease staying close to me, his
comforting presence a welcome anchor in the storm of anxiety.
On the third night, as I was debating the safety of resuming
our walks, a new fear gripped us.
Jerry's ears perked up, his body going rigid as it had on the
trail. He was growling, a deep,
menacing sound that sent chills down my spine.
His eyes were darting around, as if tracking something unseen.
An inexplicable sense of dread washed over me.
My heartbeat accelerated, pounding in my chest.
We were in our house, locked and secure, but Jerry's behavior
brought back the terror of that night in the woods.
I swallowed, trying to moisten my suddenly dry throat.
What is it, boy? I asked, my voice trembling.
Jerry didn't take his eyes off the living room window, his
growls continuing as if on cue. There was a sudden rattling
sound, a noise that seemed to punch the air out of my lungs.
It was coming from the front door.
Sound so familiar, yet so alien? In the quiet of the night, the
fragile calm shattered my mind raced the horrifying image of
the man on the trail resurfacing.
I approached the door, Jerry at my heels, his growls
intensifying. With a shaky hand, I reached out
to the peephole, dread coiling in my stomach.
The sight that greeted me sent shivers down my spine.
It was him, the stranger from the trail, now hidden under the
hood of a black sweatshirt. His presence A grim reminder of
the terror we thought we had left behind.
The following events were a blur, my instincts taking over
as I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911, my other hand
clutching Jerry's collar. The fear was back, more potent
than ever, shattering the veneer of safety I had tried to
construct. The illusion of a peaceful night
was completely destroyed, replaced by the terrifying
reality that the nightmare was far from over.
As the 911 operator picked up, my voice shook.
He's here, the man. He's at my front door.
The words tumbled out in a panicked rush.
Jerry was still growling, the hair on his back standing on
end, his entire body on high alert.
I watched as the man outside turned away from the front door.
It was a momentary reprieve, but my relief was shortlived.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jerry's attention shift.
He was no longer growling at the front door.
His focus was now towards the back of the house.
Suddenly, a new wave of dread washed over me.
I think. I think there's someone else.
I stammered into the phone, my words catching in my throat.
The operator urged me to stay calm and reassured me that help
was on the way. She told me to find somewhere
safe to hide. Clutching Jerry's collar, I
cautiously made my way to the back of the house.
My heart pounded in my ears. The eerie silence broken only by
the sound of my labored breathing and Jerry's
intermittent growls. Peering through the back window,
I saw two men outside. Their faces were pressed against
the glass, their smiles so chilling that they seemed to
drain the warmth right out of our home.
The sight was beyond horrifying. It was downright macabre.
My heart pounded in my chest, fear overwhelming my senses.
I ran back to my room, dragging Jerry along with me.
In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I locked the door, barricading
myself and Jerry in the closet. The darkness of the enclosed
space was claustrophobic, but it provided a small sense of
security. From our hiding spot, we heard
the shattering of glass. The terrifying sound echoed
through the silence, confirming my worst fears.
They were inside the house. I held Jerry close, trying to
stifle his growls. Every instinct told me to flee,
but there was nowhere left to run.
The footsteps echoing throughout the house were chilling.
They moved around slowly, methodically, like predators
stalking their prey. I could only pray that the
police would arrive soon. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped
in the distance. I heard the wailing of sirens.
Relief flooded through me, even as my heart continued to pound
with fear. The sirens grew louder, closer,
until they were just outside. The footsteps retreated, growing
fainter and fainter. When the police finally entered
the house, they found nothing but the shattered window and a
homeowner paralyzed with fear. Despite the extensive search of
the area, they found no sign of the intruders.
In the aftermath, they reassured me that they would increase
their patrols and assurance that did little to calm my frayed
nerves. As I looked at the broken window
and the havoc the intruders had wreaked, I knew that our lives
would never be the same. Our sanctuary had been violated,
our peace shattered. And though the immediate threat
had passed, the fear persisted, for the nightmare wasn't over.
It was only just beginning. In the harsh light of the
following day, I found myself standing in a hardware store,
staring at rows of security cameras and floodlights.
The mundane task of picking out home security equipment felt
surreal after the terrifying events of the past nights.
A heavy sense of dread lingered in the back of my mind as I
selected the necessary equipment.
Jerry usually excited by these outings.
Seemed to mirror my tension, staying unusually quiet after a
consultation with the store clerk and a purchase that left
my wallet significantly lighter, I returned home, arms loaded
with boxes. As I set up the cameras around
my property, I realized how much my world had changed.
My once peaceful existence had been shattered by fear and
uncertainty. I was no longer just a man and
his dog, living a simple life. I had become a man obsessed with
securing his home. Fortifying his walls against
unseen threats, with the security system in place, I
spent my time familiarizing myself with the camera feeds and
motion sensors. The work was tedious, a stark
contrast to my usual evenings of leisure, but I needed to feel
secure again, to regain some sense of control in a world that
had turned upside down. Night fell, bringing with it a
bone deep apprehension. I stayed up, eyes glued to the
camera feeds. Straining to catch any hint of
movement, the floodlights stood ready, a ring of luminescent
guardians around my house. Jerry stayed by my side, his
quiet presence A comforting anchor amidst the turmoil.
Several nights passed in this manner, filled with tension and
apprehension, but the figures from the woods did not return.
The security footage remained free of shadowy figures.
The floodlights untriggered, the eerie quiet of the nights, once
a source of solace, now felt heavy with anticipation.
Like the breathless moment before a storm, days turned into
weeks and life attempted to return to a semblance of
normalcy. I found myself breathing easier,
the fear gradually ebbing away. Jerry seemed less anxious to his
behavior mirroring mine, but the peace felt fragile, the memory
of those horrifying nights never too far from my mind.
During this period of quiet, I found myself drawn to the trail
again. We didn't venture far.
Nor did we stay out after dark. But those short daytime walks
gave me a fleeting sense of normality.
Jerry seemed to appreciate these outings, too, the old spark
returning to his eyes. However, the piece was
shortlived. The house's lease was coming to
an end, a stark reminder of the terror we had experienced.
I knew then that I couldn't live there anymore, not with the
shadows of the past lurking around every corner.
And so I made the decision to move.
To leave behind this house and it's haunting memories.
We were moving to a new state, a new home.
The decision felt like surrender, but it was a
necessary one. I needed to start over, to find
a place where Jerry and I could feel safe again.
We were leaving our old life behind, hoping to find peace
away from the haunted trails and the lingering fear.
We settled into our new life in Vermont.
It was a quiet place, far removed from the turmoil of our
past. The house was warm and
welcoming, a stark contrast to the home we had left behind.
Jerry seemed to adjust well to his spirits, lifting in the new
environment. Despite the change in scenery, I
kept the security cameras and flood lights a tangible reminder
of our past. A necessary precaution for my
Peace of Mind. I was cautious, ever vigilant.
The nightly rituals of checking locks and monitoring security
feeds continued, now a part of my routine.
Jerry and I discovered new trails to explore.
Beautiful paths winding through dense woods, the silence broken
only by the rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds.
Walking these trails, I felt a sense of calm return, a feeling
I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Months passed, the memories of the horrifying incidents
gradually fading. They remained at the back of my
mind, a scar on our otherwise peaceful existence.
But they didn't consume my thoughts as they once had.
I allowed myself to believe that we were finally safe, that the
nightmare was behind US1 Evening.
As Jerry and I were sitting in our living room, I heard a
familiar rustle. It was soft, almost
imperceptible, but it was enough to make my blood run cold.
I glanced at Jerry, his ears perked up, his gaze fixed on the
window. There it was again, that
familiar growl, A haunting echo of our past.
I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest.
I moved towards the window, my eyes scanning the area outside.
My hand reached out, pulling the curtain aside, and what I saw
froze me in my tracks, in the glow of the floodlight.
I saw him, the man in the black hoodie, his face obscured by
shadows. But it was the smile, that bone
chilling smile that confirmed my worst fears.
He was here. They had found us.
The feeling of terror was all consuming as I scrambled to dial
911. I felt my world collapsing
around me. The nightmare was far from over.
It was just beginning anew. Despite changing states, leaving
the old trails, taking all possible precautions, they had
tracked us down. Our past had caught up with us.
The sirens wailed in the distance, their urgency
mirroring the chaos of my thoughts.
I held Jerry close, feeling his heart pounding against mine as
the police arrived. The man was nowhere to be seen.
He had vanished, leaving only the haunting echo of his
presence. As I looked out at the trail,
the feeling of dread washed over me.
This was not the end. Our journey was far from over.
The fear was back, a constant companion in our lives.
We were trapped in this never ending cycle of terror.
And as I held Jerry close, I couldn't help but wonder.
Would we ever truly escape this nightmare?
Our trails were no longer safe. Our peace shattered.
Once again. The man in the black hoodie had
returned. Plunging us back into a world of
terror. As the horrifying reality of our
situation settled in, one thing was crystal clear.
No matter where we went, the nightmare would follow.
The fear was back and it was here to stay.
This story happened when I was about 13 or 14.
I grew up in a town with a lot of walking biking trails.
And a forest area, about a 10 minute walk from my house, so I
spent a lot of time outside. One of my best friends will call
him Anthony lived in the neighborhood across from mine.
I would frequently walk to his house to knock on his door and
see whether he wanted to join me in biking aimlessly around town.
On this particular day, he decided to join me and we went
down to the local lake, an extremely popular spot during
the summer. It's never empty.
There's a trail right next to the local library which leads to
the lake. We decided to hang out by the
trail entrance as it was right next to a tunnel that run under
the street above, providing good shade and amplification for
listening to music together off our iPods.
This tunnel is probably a good 20 feet long or so, with the
only easy path back up to the street above being the paved
one-on-one side. The trail itself is gravel with
trees on both sides. No easy way to get off with a
bike unless you use the designated entrances and exits.
Anthony and I were hanging out on the opposite side of the
tunnel from the trail entrance so as not to bother any families
getting on the trail with our music.
We had our bikes leaned up on the side of the tunnel when I
noticed a man coming through the opposite end right next to the
trail entrance. He entered the tunnel and once
he was about 15 feet away, called out.
I'm a city name police officer. It didn't take more than a two
second glance to tell that he wasn't.
He was wearing cargo shorts, a green tank top, sandals, and a
big military style backpack. Even from about 15 feet away I
could tell that his skin looked really greasy and his hair was
unkempt. I immediately knew something bad
was about to happen and my adrenaline started to rush.
I turned to my friend and just yelled at him Anthony run, to
which he got on his bike and began to ride off.
The man was standing between us and the trail entrance, so there
was no easy way for us to take off without either needing to go
directly past him or down the trail in the opposite direction.
Anthony chose to try for the main entrance that the man was
blocking. As he rode past, the man reached
out and grabbed his arm. Anthony sort of stopped, but the
man was more focused on me and ended up letting go, to which
Anthony quickly took off. I knew I wouldn't be as lucky as
Anthony was if I tried to push my way past the man.
So I immediately started looking for other ways to run.
I noticed that there was actually a small dirt trail on
the same end of the tunnel that we had been.
I tried to take my bike up it and the man yelled out behind
me. Didn't your parents ever teach
you not to run from the cops? The trail grew too small for me
to carry my bike down, so I just dropped it on the ground and
continued running, hoping that this side trail led back up to
the street where he at least wouldn't be able to hurt me
without witnesses. He chased me about halfway down
the trail, but eventually turned around.
I ended up coming out of the library and quickly ran to the
top of the tunnel so that I could see what he was doing.
All I saw was him riding off on my bike.
I called the cops and they came to my house to give me a lineup.
After I walked home, I instantly identified the guy.
Apparently he and his twin brother were homeless and on
meth, which would explain his demeanor and motivation.
They were known for stealing bikes in the area, but never so
brazenly. I was just glad that the
situation wasn't worse because based on his substance use, he
very easily could have chosen violence at the drop of a hat to
the fake cop that stole my bike. Let's not meet this incident
occurred back in late 2021. I was currently serving in the
military stationed in California, and I lived off base
at this time. It was around 9:00 PM when I was
driving home from work. I pulled into my apartment
parking garage and I noticed a guy I have never seen before and
knew he did not live here, just standing there leaning against
one of the support columns, just staring through my windshield.
I tried to gauge what his intentions were by giving the
old Midwest hey, by raising my fingers over my steering wheel.
I got nothing, just a blank stare right at me.
At this moment, I knew something wasn't right.
I tried to weigh my options in my head.
I can awkwardly back out of the very small parking garage and do
a few laps around the neighborhood.
Or I could call my roommate and tell him to come down.
Strengthen numbers, you know? Or I can be a tough and brave
military man. I decided to stop overthinking
it and just deal with it on my own.
I backed into my parking space. All the while this guy is
directly across from my parking spot, just staring at me.
I again do the Midwest finger wave over the steering wheel
with zero reaction from the guy. I grip my teeth and get out of
my car and start walking towards the only staircase up to my
apartment which he is standing directly in front of.
So I obviously have to walk right past him.
I start approaching and say hey, how's it going?
Just to gauge his friendliness one more time and got absolutely
nothing. So at this point I'm thinking
I'm going to get either stabbed in the neck or shot in the back
of the head when I pass him. But nothing happened.
I realized I was just overthinking it and began
walking up the stairs to my apartment.
I get about 1/4 of the way up when I hear running behind me.
I started to run up the stairs, skipping a few steps and
completely eating it, cutting my hands and bleeding.
But at this point I didn't care at all.
I got up and kept going up the stairs and got to my door.
This scene was honestly straight out of a horror movie.
Me trying to get my key in the door.
When I turn and see him running up the stairs it honestly feels
like it was all in slow motion. I thankfully got the key in and
was able to get inside the house, but my motor skills were
not all there at this point so I was struggling to lock the door.
I braced it with my foot while he tried getting and I was able
to lock it. He started messing with the door
handle and banging on the door while I went and woke my
roommate up. I grabbed my gun from the
bedroom and we both just sat in the living room waiting.
After about a minute of this we decided to call 911 and in about
3 minutes around 10 squad cars pulled up and searched the whole
area. The guy was nowhere to be found
while finishing my contract in California.
I was paranoid every time I went down to that garage.
I still don't know what his intentions were to this day and
that's honestly the part that irks me the most.
Guy, female and 52 at the time, was traveling by car to an out
of town job assignment. I had stopped at a popular and
busy gas station, travel stop to fill up the car, stretch my
legs, use the restroom and grab a snack.
I was approached by a developmentally disabled woman
who appeared to be in her mid 20s.
She was looking for a ride to a town a couple of towns over.
Her ride had abandoned her while she was in the restroom.
She was a little upset she didn't have a cell phone and
didn't know any phone numbers so I could call someone for her.
I checked with the employees at the store and they said that she
had been there for an hour looking for a ride because she
said her friends left her while she was in the restroom.
I then made the decision to do something I'd never done before,
offer a stranger a ride. I wasn't going to the town she
wanted to go to, but I was heading in that direction and I
told her I could drop her off at the grocery store in the next
town. Where I would be turning off to
go to my destination. The grocery store was always
busy and it was very likely she'd have an easier time
getting a ride to where she wanted to go.
Also, she'd be 5 miles away from where she wanted to go instead
of 25 miles, and she'd have an easier time walking that
distance if she had to. This was agreeable to her and we
set off right away. I noticed a van following us.
I tried to lose the van, but it kept pace.
Meanwhile, the woman wanted to play with my phone.
I told her no, it wasn't a toy, it was for work and I moved it
out of her reach. The van speeds up and starts to
get closer. The woman suddenly remembers her
boyfriend's phone number and we need to call him.
I can't use my phone while driving.
This was precar sync voice activated operation and I was
approaching the outskirts of the business district of the next
town and no cell phone use while driving signs everywhere.
I told her we're almost to the grocery store.
We can call him from the parking lot.
She becomes agitated and yells, no, you have to Take Me Home.
I told you I can't do that. I'm not going there.
It's in the opposite direction of where I need to go and I'm
expected soon. We'll call him from the parking
lot. She becomes more upset and
frustrated. The van is getting closer.
I pull into the grocery store parking lot.
It's about 4:00 PM The grocery store is busy.
I pull up in front of the store and ask for her boyfriend's
number. She can't remember his number.
She won't get out of the car. She's arguing with me and the
van is pulling into the parking lot.
There is a sheriff's deputy parked nearby and I roll down my
window and signal that I need to speak to him.
He walks over and asks me what's going on.
I tell him where I met the woman and now she won't get out of the
car and under my breath I tell him the van has been following
us. The deputy tells the woman she
brought you where you asked her to.
It's time for you to leave her car now.
She slowly gets out of the car and I ask once more for her
boyfriend's number and she says you're crazy.
I don't have a boyfriend. Oh look, there are my friends
now and she points to the damn van.
The deputy and I share a look and he says give me your contact
info. I can delay them for about 20
minutes while I check their license and registration and
lecture them about abandoning a special needs adult.
You get out of here and I'll check on you before my shift is
over. And don't pick up any more
hitchhikers. I left and went on to my
destination. He called me to make sure I got
to where I was going and told me that they were keeping an eye on
the van and its owner. He told me he also contacted A
colleague at the Sheriff's Department in the county where I
was working, and that she would contact me in a day or two while
I was on assignment there. I spoke to two deputies and a
detective about the woman in the van.
No one ever told me anything about them, but they were very
interested in them. My nightmare is one day I'll
turn on a true crime show and see a report about this woman
and her gang robbing and killing people.
So woman looking for a ride at the travel stop.
Let's not meet again. This all started a couple of
days ago, July 5th, when I'd get a random call from FedEx around
10:00 PM where they would ask me for my name and address which
they already knew. I gave it to them thinking it
might be a package that was lost and somehow found its way back
to my home. Hindsight, I should have known
FedEx doesn't deliver past 8:00 PM here in Canada.
I thought nothing of it till I got another phone call saying
they can't find my unit number and asked me to come out to the
roundabout nearby my place. My dad thought it was weird so
he patrolled the area to find these people.
My dad did around 4 laps the first lap.
There wasn't anything there. But then I got curious and
joined him for the second lap. Yet again, nothing.
I went back into my home and my dad did a third lap around the
house. He found a Gray SUV in the
corner and confronted them. They told my dad they aren't the
delivery person, and my dad left to do another confirmation
check. As he was doing this last lap,
that same SUV wasn't there. The next day, July 6th, around
6:00 PM to 11:00 PM, we hear a doorbell ringing.
And I went down to check and it was 2 individuals around the age
of 20. They knew my name and were
calling out for me. I thought it was weird because
I've never seen them before. I didn't feel safe so I didn't
pursue them. They kept coming over and over
again. So we called the police and
talked about what we should do. The cops told me to contact them
if this happens again. The next day, July 7th, it was
very quiet and nothing weird happened.
So we thought the worst has ended and just went on with my
day. The next day, July 8th, it was
the same quietness, but when the time approached 11:00 PM, my
security camera spotted an individual with a mask on taking
a photo video of my current house.
This was the breaking point. We contact the police and
informed them about this weird behavior just when you thought
it was over. I was casually in the living
room. Around 3:00 AM the same day,
July 8th, I heard something thunking outside my balcony.
I thought it could be anything. And didn't mind it till it
thunked again. I went to the balcony to see
what I was hearing. Then it clicked.
I was face to face with the intruder.
I started screaming for help and my family came down to check out
the commotion. Thank God I checked the balcony
that day. Who knows what else could have
happened. Today is July 9th and I haven't
got a wink of sleep and thinking of the terror that I faced.
Am I one of the targets of a home invasion?
How did they get my name? What do they want from me?
I've always loved our home. Perched on a rise overlooking
the rambling countryside, it stood majestically against the
ever changing canvas of the sky. I designed it myself, every
corner filled with love, every crevice steeped in memories.
It was our sanctuary, our Eden. But that was before everything
changed. It started innocuously enough.
I noticed it first, a fleeting feeling of something being out
of place, A familiar picture, slightly Askew, A favorite book,
not where I last left it. At first I dismissed it as
absent mindedness, or James's prankish behavior, but soon the
subtle anomalies began to mount. The unexplained noises began
next, rustling muted thumps, a faint melody of a song I
couldn't place, sounds that danced at the edge of hearing,
vanishing when I focused my attention on them.
I tried to explain it away, the house settling the wind,
whispering secrets to the old timber frame, the normal sounds
a house makes. But it was different.
It was unsettling. And then the notes started
appearing, scrawled messages left on our porch, not
threatening, but deeply unsettling all the same.
Nice flowers, one said, after I'd spent a day gardening.
Good read, Another hinted. After I'd enjoyed an afternoon
in the hammock with a novel. A voyeuristic commentary on our
lives. I confided in James, but he
laughed it off, reassuring me it was all just a strange
coincidence, a neighborhood kids idea of fun.
I tried to convince myself he was right, but the prickling
sense of being watched, the unseen eyes drilling into my
back every time I ventured out said otherwise.
I turned to the local authorities, but they too were
dismissive. They listened politely, their
faces displaying practice concern.
But their words echoed James's sentiment.
Maybe it's just a prankster, Missus hall.
Keep an eye out and let us know if anything else happens.
But I knew deep down, something was not right.
It was in the air, heavy and invasive.
It was in the shadows, lurking and whispering.
It was in the silences, loud and eerie.
A sinister undercurrent ran through our daily lives, making
the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Every Creek in the night sent icy tendrils of fear slithering
down my spine. Every gust of wind against the
window made my heart pound in my chest.
Our beautiful house had become a stranger to me.
It's familiar contours took on a foreign aspect.
It's comforting, quiet transformed into an ominous
hush. Every corner held a lurking
dread, Every shadow a lurking threat.
One day, returning from a grocery run, I felt it more than
ever. The front door was slightly ajar
and inviting, black void against the fading evening light.
I could feel the house breathing, an undercurrent of
fear laced in its exhale. Something was very wrong, and as
I pushed the door open, every instinct screamed at me that our
idyllic life was about to shatter, that we were not alone.
In the weeks that followed, the unseen specter started to etch
deeper marks into our lives. The brief respite of daylight
did little to quell the ever growing sense of unease that
coiled tightly in the pit of my stomach.
Nights were worse. Every cloak of darkness, every
Crescent moon, every twinkle of Starlight became a portal of
paranoia. James was a rock, a sturdy
bulwark against my rising tide of fear.
I admired his fortitude, yet his dismissiveness irked me.
Every morning began with the ritualistic reiteration of my
nightly terror. And his perfunctory dismissal of
the same. Our breakfast conversations took
on a macabre rhythm, my recounting of nocturnal noises
and James's attempts to put a logical spin on them.
It was maddening, and the harmony of our relationship
began to falter under this mounting discord.
At times I could almost sense a smoky figure in the corner of my
vision, only to find it missing when I turned An envelope would
appear in the mailbox, its contents and innocent sales
flyer. But the accompanying fear was
real, and choking the lines between reality and imagination
began to blur, a chilling mirage that was indistinguishable.
My once jovial chats with the grocer or the mailman turned
paranoid, my eyes constantly searching for something,
anything that might betray the identity of our unseen
tormentor. The vibrant community I was once
an active part of felt hostile now.
Every friendly wave of potential clue, every innocuous
conversation, a veiled threat. And then one day.
While trimming the roses by our white picket fence, I saw him, a
figure obscured by the rays of the setting sun, just standing
there, watching, waiting, an ominous silhouette against the
backdrop of the glowing orb. An icy dread washed over me,
petrifying me where I stood, shears in hand.
Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure turned and
walked away, swallowed by the shadows of the descending night.
With every nerve in my body screaming, I rushed into the
house, barring the door behind me.
I tried to explain to James, my words, stumbling over each other
in their haste to convey the terror.
He listened, his expression unreadable, and then he strode
out into the yard into the growing darkness.
When he returned, he was alone. There was a tension in his jaw,
a hardness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before, but he
dismissed it all the same. It's just some drifter, Amelia.
He's gone now. But the fear wasn't.
It clung to me, a heavy cloak that refused to be shrugged off
because I knew, as sure as the night was dark and the dawn was
inevitable, we were being watched.
The once friendly confines of our home had morphed into a
stage our lives a play for a sinister audience of 1.
The unseen presence had become an unwelcome guest in our lives,
turning our idyllic home into a haunted theater of dread.
The invisible line that had so far separated us from our
tormentor was crossed. One unnervingly warm afternoon,
I had been in the attic, sifting through old photo albums, trying
to find refuge in the happy memories they held.
The nostalgia served as a balm, temporarily relieving the
gnawing unease. I came downstairs to the sound
of angry voices, a strange sight in our usually serene home.
As I entered the living room, I froze.
There was James, standing head to head with a gaunt, wiry man.
Get off my property, Terry. James seethed, a dangerous edge
to his voice that I'd never heard before.
The man. Terry spat back a string of
venomous words, each laced with resentment and hatred.
It was then that I recognized him a face from our past.
Terry had once been an employee of James.
His work related grievance against James had led to his
termination years ago. But what was he doing here?
My mind raced. Fitting together the puzzle
pieces of our recent terror, I watched, petrified as the
confrontation escalated. Suddenly, Terry noticed me
standing there, a twisted smirk appearing on his face.
I was an unwilling participant in this dangerous game.
Now, before either of us could react, he turned on his heels
and dashed out of the house, disappearing into the thickening
dusk. James rushed to my side, his
comforting touch failing to calm my racing heart.
The echoes of their conversation rang in my ears.
His words, his resentment, his twisted smile.
Everything fell into place. Our tormentor had a face now.
I called the police, but Terry was long gone before they
arrived. The officers took our statement,
their previously dismissive attitude replaced with genuine
concern, but it was too late. The unseen presence had been
unmasked, but the relief was overshadowed by a paralyzing
terror that night. As James and I locked every
door, checked every window, and surveyed every corner, our home
felt more like a fortress under siege.
Each echo of the house settling was a potential footstep, every
whisper of the wind a veiled threat.
Our lives, previously framed by love and harmony, had been
disrupted by the menacing specter of our past.
That fear, that invasive, gnawing terror, was no longer a
distant threat. It had a name now, a face, a
form. It was Terry.
He was our ghost, our demon, our stalker.
But knowing this didn't ease the dread.
The unseen presence was now in known danger, making it all the
more horrifying. I realized then that our lives
had irreversibly changed. Our house, once a symbol of
safety and love, was a target. Now we were trapped in our own
home, prisoners in our sanctuary, and there was no
escaping this harrowing nightmare.
We had unmasked the stalker, but the fear remained.
More tangible and terrifying than ever, fear is a peculiar
creature. It prowls in the shadows,
growing larger with each passing 2nd.
When your home is violated, when the one place you should feel
safe becomes a battlefield, that fear is amplified.
It morphs into something monstrous, something all
consuming. One bone chilling night.
The inevitable happened. The line Terry had been dancing
upon was obliterated. The stage was set for the final
act of his macabre play. It was a home invasion.
James and I were huddled in our living room, every light in the
house burning brightly against the oppressive darkness outside.
The television hummed A forgettable sitcom.
It's laughter track, a haunting echo in our tense silence.
Then a crash echoed from the upstairs bedroom, a clear, sharp
sound that shattered the dread filled quiet.
James leaped up, a baseball bat in hand, his face a mask of grim
determination. He moved towards the stairs.
But I gripped his arm, fear rooting me to the spot.
The terror was real, tangible. It was in our home, shattering
our sanctuary, peace by agonizing peace.
For a moment we stood frozen, listening to the sinister sounds
of our home being invaded, the harsh breathing of an unwelcome
visitor in our sacred space. And then the torment began.
Terry's voice, cold and distorted, filled the rooms.
He taunted us, a twisted puppeteer enjoying his
marionettes dance of fear. His words were daggers piercing
our hearts, lacing our veins with icy dread.
Every sentence was a grotesque homage to his obsession, each
uttered syllable a nightmarish sonnet.
The invasion was more than just a physical violation of our
house, It was a psychological assault, a warped game designed
to wear us down, and Terry reveled in it.
Feeding off our fear, he moved through our home.
His destructive path leaving no room untouched, our beautiful,
lovingly curated rooms were being turned into a nightmarish
gallery, a testament to our terror.
The invasion lasted hours, each second ticking by with agonizing
slowness. We were trapped, pray in our own
home. I clung to James, his trembling
frame a stark reminder of our grim reality.
Our world was shrinking, each passing minute drawing the walls
closer. We were held hostage in our
sanctuary. Our home transformed into a
chilling labyrinth. A once familiar world turned
upside down, spun out of control by a vengeful phantom from our
past. As the dawn broke, painting the
sky with hues of fear, we braced ourselves.
We were under attack, the enemy within our walls.
Our lives had become a survival game.
The House of Battlefield. The home invasion had begun, and
the end was nowhere. Insight.
The ghost had become a monster. Our past had become our present.
And our future was a dark, terrifying abyss.
The dawn was a surreal spectacle, an explosion of color
in a world turned black and white.
As the first rays of the sun pierced the gloom.
Reality dawned on us. We were trapped in our own
nightmare, a horrifying reality we couldn't wake from.
Terry continued his reign of terror, an unhinged maestro
orchestrating a Symphony of fear.
We were his captive audience, forced to endure every crescendo
of horror. The minutes bled into hours.
Each tick of the clock echoing our impending doom.
Suddenly a resounding crash jolted us.
I clung to James, our heartbeat synchronizing in the rhythm of
fear. He tightened his grip around the
baseball bat, a grim resolution etched on his face.
We waited, the eerie silence, a looming portent of the
confrontation to come. In the agonizing quiet, we heard
the creak of footsteps descending the staircase.
Each step echoed in the cavernous emptiness of our
violated home. I barely breathed, the world
shrinking down to the menacing sound of the approaching danger.
Then he was there, Terry, standing in the doorway, A
grotesque figure silhouetted against the growing light of
dawn, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing delight.
Fixated on us. James.
Amelia. He drawled, his voice a cold
blade. The sound sent shivers down my
spine, each syllable a chilling reminder of our predicament.
James stood, his frame erect, gripping the bat tighter.
His gaze met Terry's a silent challenge.
An age-old conflict resurfaced, the workplace grudge now a
deadly feud. Terry lunged towards us, the air
around him crackling with malice.
James met him halfway, the clash echoing in the silent house.
The ensuing struggle was a brutal dance, each man battling
for control, for survival. I watched, frozen in terror, as
they grappled Terry's manic strength against James's
desperate determination. Fear was no longer an abstract
concept. It was visceral, raw, clawing at
my senses. The fight moved throughout the
house, the battleground shifting from room to room.
Every precious artifact in our home became a weapon, every
familiar corner a tactical advantage are once Serena Bode
was now an arena hosting A horrifying showdown.
Time seemed to slow, each moment stretching out in its gruesome
detail. I could do nothing but watch.
A powerless spectator in my own nightmare, my heart pounded in
my chest, my breath shallow and rapid.
The home invasion had reached its horrifying peak, culminating
in a clash that would decide our fates.
Our home, once a symbol of love and harmony, was the stage for a
chilling fight for survival. Our past was no longer a memory,
but a monstrous villain standing before us.
The ghost had taken form. The Terror had a name, and it
was Terry. The peaceful dawn was a stark
contrast to the nightmare unfolding within our walls.
Our lives had turned into a Horror Story and the end was
still out of sight. The battle seemed to last in
eternity. The once familiar walls of our
home reverberated with the violence of our struggle.
My heart pounded In Sync with each bone jarring impact between
James and Terry. Then it happened.
The tides turned, the battle reaching its bloody climax.
James managed to land a decisive blow.
Sending Terry sprawling onto the floor.
The sickening thud echoed in the silence, a grotesque crescendo
in the Symphony of terror. I sprang into action, dialing
911 with trembling fingers. The operator's voice, calm and
collected, was a stark contrast to the chaos enveloping us.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each passing
2nd, an ominous requiem to our prolonged horror.
As the police arrived, they apprehended Terry.
His laughter a bone chilling requiem, echoing through the
violated halls of our home. He had been defeated, yet he
reveled in the terror he had wrought.
His maniacal smile was the parting image of a nightmarish
chapter of our lives. We watched as they hauled him
away, his disturbing laughter fading into the distance.
The dawn had broken, but the shadows of the night still clung
to us. Our home was littered with the
aftermath of the battle. Each room a chilling monument to
our horrifying ordeal. The police commended our
bravery, promising us that Terry would face justice, but their
words were a hollow comfort. The beast was captured, but the
scars were irrevocable. We were survivors, yet we felt
defeated. Our home was no longer our
sanctuary, but a haunting reminder of the terror we had
endured. James and I clung to each other
in the heart of our shattered home, a desperate attempt to
find some semblance of comfort. But the ordeal had left us raw,
the terror still palpable. Every shadow was a lurking
menace, every creak of potential danger.
The fear remained, an uninvited guest refusing to leave.
It had a face, a name, now Terry.
Even behind bars he had left a horrifying imprint on our lives.
The unseen presence had been revealed, the stalker unmasked,
but the dread he had instilled was a haunting echo.
Terry was locked away, yet he still held us captive.
His chilling laughter echoed in our ears, his grotesque smile
etched in our minds. The home invasion was over, yet
we felt trapped prisoners in our violated sanctuary.
Even as the sun rose, painting the world with a deceptive calm,
the terror lingered. We were left with the ruins of
our desecrated home, our shattered lives.
The fear was not over. It was beginning.
The home invasion had ended, the monster captured.
But the story was far from over. We were still in the grip of
fear, ensnared in a terrifying tale that showed no sign of
ending.