22 Most Disturbing TRUE Hitchhiking Horror Stories That Will Make You Ignore Every Raised Thumb

Hello everyone and welcome back to horror stories. I know many of you use these episodes to fall asleep so before you drift off, I'd love it if you could leave a comment letting me know where you're listening from around the world. Also don't forget to like and subscribe if you're enjoying the episodes. I had always heard that picking up hitchhikers was risky but I had never had any problems. As a college student on a tight budget, I used to take long drives to clear my head and sometimes a little company made the road more interesting. That was how I ended up stopping for him that night. I was coming back from a camping weekend with some friends, taking the scenic back road through the countryside to clear my head before returning to campus. The road wound between hills and thick forest. I had the window cracked open and the cool night air kept me awake as I drove along that quiet road. It was peaceful, the kind of stillness you do not find in the city. Just as I was starting to settle into the calm rhythm of the drive, I saw a figure in the distance, standing alone on the shoulder. A man, a little past the curve. He was walking with his head down and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, as if he had been on foot for a while. At first I thought he would pass by without noticing me, but he looked up, squinting into my headlights and raised his hand in a half wave as if unsure anyone would even see him. I hesitated and looked around. The road was deserted. He was alone. Against my better judgment, I pulled over. The man hurried to the passenger side and leaned his face toward the open window. He looked about my age, maybe a little older, with messy hair. There was something intense in his gaze, a kind of wide eyed urgency. Need a ride? I asked, trying to sound casual. Yeah, he nodded, glancing over his shoulder. Thanks, I just want to get away from here. He climbed in quickly and shut the door a little harder than necessary. As I pulled back onto the road, I noticed he sat stiffly. His eyes darting to the rear view mirror every few seconds, as if he expected someone to be following us. I could not help watching him out of the corner of my eye feeling a little tense. Where are you headed, I asked, trying to break the ice. It does not matter, he said, looking back over his shoulder again, as far away from here as possible. All right, I replied, trying not to let his strange answer get to me. I figured he was nervous, maybe running from something. But as we kept driving, his uneasy behavior started to get to me too. Every so often, he would lean forward to scan the road ahead or glance nervously out the window. What is you so worked up, a joked half serious. He hesitated, drumming his fingers on his knee. Someone is following me, he finally said. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. But here, looks like we are the only ones on the road, man. He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the mirror. You do not understand. They have been following me for miles. Every time I think I lose them, they show up again. I thought with your car I might finally get away. I wanted to roll my eyes and brush it off as paranoia or some kind of delusion. But something in the way he said it stopped me. His voice was rough, full of real fear. I gave a slight nod, trying to reassure him even though I was still skeptical. Relax, we are moving fast. No one is going to catch us. He did not answer. He just kept staring into the rear view mirror, pale and tense. I focused on the road, telling myself he was scared and probably imagining things. But a few minutes later, lights appeared in the distance coming up fast. At first I did not think much of them. The speed on these empty roads all the time. But as the car got closer, I noticed it was swaying. Its headlights bouncing across the pavement as if it were deliberately trying to catch us. My passenger went rigid, gripping the seat. That is them, he whispered. I knew they would find me. A prickle of uneas ran through me as the vehicle closed in. Its headlights swallowing my rear view mirror. Maybe they just want to pass, I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. But they did not pass. They matched my speed, staying so close that I could feel their presence right behind us. The car edge toward us and its lights flooded the inside of mine. The glare bounced off the side mirror and lit up my passenger's anxious face. I pressed harder on the gas, gripping the wheel, and he clenched his jaw looking back. They are trying to run us off the road, he said. You have to take the next turn, left, left. That is the old service road, I muttered. It does not even lead anywhere. It does not matter, he insisted, his eyes wide. They will not expect it. Just trust me. I did not like the idea, but the other car was crowding us. At the last second I turned and took the narrow left onto the service road. He sped down that winding path, the trees closing in around us. The headlights behind us swerved when they tried to follow. It was obvious they had not expected the turn. They skittered a little and their lights fell behind. I felt a sudden wave of relief when we gained some distance, though it did not last long. My passenger was still tense giving me quick sharp directions. Left here, now right. The whole time he kept looking back to see whether we had lost them. After a string of tight turns that left my pulse racing and my fingers dug into the steering wheel, the lights finally disappeared. I slowed down, breathing hard, my heart still pounding. My passenger slumped back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders sagging with relief. Thank you, he murmured. I thought I would never get away from them. For welcome, I said trying to catch my breath. But who the hell were they? He did not answer. He just stared out the window, his face unreadable. I had a thousand questions, but his expression told me I was not going to get any answers. After a few minutes of tense silence, the hitchhiker finally looked at me. "You had better take me home," he said, his tone sharp, almost pleading. I hesitated. Nothing about the request felt off to me, a note of desperation that made my nerves spike again. "Look, I think it would be safer if we headed to the nearest police station," I told him firmly. "They can help you there." He turned to me, his face tightening with something close to anger. "No," he said in a low-strain voice. "Drop me at the next gas station. I do not need the police. I will find another ride." Effectantly I agreed, and a few miles later I pulled into a gas station. I expected him to thank me or at least say something, but he got out without a word, without looking back, and walked toward the dark edge of the parking lot. Once he was gone, I just sat there and tried to process everything. I looked toward where he had gone, but he had already melted into the shadows around the gas station. My hands were still gripping the steering wheel, my heart racing, when I started to wonder. But if the car that chased us had somehow marked mine, I had seen that in movies, sure, but what if they had really taken down my plates? I did not want to risk it. I drove straight to the nearest police station. I stumbled over my words as I explained the whole strange situation. The guy, the car that followed us, and the aggressive driving. The officer nodded and wrote everything down, but when I was finished he only said, "You did the right thing by coming in, but please be careful all right?" That was enough to convince me to avoid that stretch of road for a while. Over the next few months I went out of my way not to pass through there, taking the long route whenever I could. I lived looking over my shoulder, checking my mirrors, expecting to see those same headlights coming up behind me again. Sometimes I caught myself inspecting the car for strange marks or scratches. Something that might give someone a reason to follow me again. I kept telling myself it had been an isolated incident. But every now and then when I drive alone I cannot shake the feeling that someone might be watching me, and I still wonder about the guy I picked up, where he was going and who the hell was chasing him. Story 2 I am a mechanic and I drive a lot, especially on weekends when I go out to pick up parts for my shop. I have always been the kind of person who does not mind giving someone a ride if I see them stranded. I guess we all need a hand from time to time, and out in the middle of nowhere, where traffic is sparse and cell service fails. It can literally be a life saver. It was in July 2018 on a quiet Saturday afternoon. I was driving along an almost deserted highway. The sun was starting to set, and I figured I had about an hour, maybe a little more before the road was completely swallowed by darkness. I was humming along to the song on the radio. My mind already on the parts I had just picked up and the work waiting for me at the shop. When I saw a couple standing by the side of the road up ahead, they were next to an old beat-up sedan. I slowed down, rolled down my window as I approached and pulled up beside them. They looked a little rough around the edges, but nothing unusual. He was tall with messy hair and a jacket that had seen better days. She was a little shorter, with straight tangled hair framing her face, and her arms crossed as if she were cold. Both of them looked relieved when they saw me. "Need a ride?" I asked. The guy nodded and a smile crossed his face. "Yeah, thanks, man. We are headed to the next town. Our car just died. I unlocked the doors. Get in. I will take you to the gas station in town." They settled in, the woman in the back and the man beside me in the passenger seat. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Carl. His wife Diane gave a slight wave from the back seat. They seemed pleasant enough and we started chatting as we drove. Carl took an interest in my car, complimenting the per of the engine and asking if I had worked on it myself. "Yeah, I am a mechanic," I told him, and I went on a bit about my shop and the kinds of cars I usually work on. They seemed attentive, especially Carl. He nodded, asked follow-up questions about my favorite models, the tools I use, the usual stuff. Diane chimed in now and then, asking if I worked late, or if I was often on the road at night, things like that. At first, it seemed harmless, just simple curiosity, but as the minutes passed, the questions started to change in tone. They stopped feeling like casual conversation and became more personal. Diane leaned forward from the back to ask whether I usually traveled alone on these long drives, whether anyone knew my route that night. Carl wanted to know if I lived alone, if I had family nearby. I started answering more vaguely by replies growing shorter, with the feeling that I was telling them more than I wanted to. The light was fading fast and the road stretched out in long, empty miles ahead of us. As I drove, I could feel Diane's eyes fixed on me through the rear-view mirror. She hardly blinked watching me with a dark calm intensity. You must feel lonely out there sometimes. She said softly almost in a whisper. I let out a short laugh trying to keep the tone light. "No, I do not mind. Just me in the road." Carl shifted beside me and I caught sight of something gleaming in his hand, a small serrated knife. He held it casually, twirling it between his fingers as if it meant nothing, but the mere flash of it made my stomach tighten. "Nice blade," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "What do you carry it for?" He looked at me. His smile was too wide, too slow. "You know, I like to keep one handy. You never know when it might come in useful. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, glancing between the road and the knife. I told myself not to overreact, that maybe I was imagining things, but it was impossible to ignore the feeling that something was wrong, that their questions were not just curiosity and that the knife was more than a useful tool. "So you work really late, huh?" Diane said with that soft, almost velvety voice. "Do you ever get visitors?" "I did not answer. I kept my eyes on the road, that empty stretch sinking deeper into the dark. I felt Carl shift beside me, the blade glinted again as he adjusted his grip. The tension grew thick, filling the air inside the car. Without thinking I slammed on the brakes. The car jerked violently, throwing us against the seats, and I pulled over hard. The sudden stop caught them off guard. Carl dropped the knife onto the floor, and Diane let out a small gasp, bracing her hands against the seat back to keep her balance. "This is where you get out," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "This is the end of your ride. For a moment they stayed still, staring at me as if they could not quite believe what they were hearing. Instinctively my hand dropped toward my waist as if reaching for a weapon, even though I did not have one. Carl looked at his knife on the floor and then raised his eyes back to me. He did not pick it up. He only gave me that unsettling smile again, his eyes narrowing. Diane leaned forward close enough that I could feel her breath brush my neck. "You are making a big mistake," she murmured. "Out," I ordered, without backing down. They got out slowly without another word. They stood there watching me as I shut the door and pulled the car back onto the road. I looked at them in the rear view mirror as I drove away. Their figures blurred into the darkness, still standing at the edge of the road, following me with those strange smiles as if they knew something I did not. As I drove I could not shake the feeling that I had barely avoided something terrible. The road was empty ahead of me. The silence inside the car felt heavy. I kept checking the mirrors. By the time I finally reached the gas station my hands were still shaking. I stopped to get fuel and tried to calm down, but their faces kept replaying in my mind over and over. The way they had looked at me when they got out, as if they carried some certainty I did not understand. The cashier noticed how pale I looked and asked if I was all right. I nodded, took my change, and went back to the car, wanting to put as much distance as possible between myself and that stretch of highway. I never saw them again, but I think about them every time I drive that route. I cannot help wondering what they wanted, what they were planning, and sometimes on those long quiet drives I catch myself checking the rear view mirror, expecting to see two shadowy figures in the distance, staring at me with those same unsettling smiles as if they were still waiting for their chance. Story 3. I never thought I would be one of those people who picks up a hitchhiker. You hear enough warnings, the risks, the stories that make your skin crawl, and that you still brush off with a laugh because those things do not really happen. But when you are out there, sometimes instinct takes over. It was late on a Friday night, and I was heading back to campus after a study session at a friend's house about an hour away. My car was old, a little rusty, and rattled every time it hit a pothole bigger than a pebble. But it had character and as a broke college student, it got me where I needed to go. The road was two lanes winding between farmland and thick patches of forest, and with the rain pouring down, visibility was already bad. The windshield wipers were working over time, and even at full speed they could barely keep up. Halfway through the drive I saw something ahead, right at the side of the road, a drenched figure standing alone in the downpour. She was hunched over with dark hair plastered to her face and neck, her shoulders drawn in against the rain. I slowed down without thinking. My headlights lit up her pale trembling silhouette. She looked young, maybe in her early 20s, and she was hugging herself as if she were freezing. I do not know why I did it. Maybe it was the look in her eyes when she turned toward me. There was something almost pleading there, and before I realized what I was doing I had already pulled over, stopping the car right in front of her. I rolled down the passenger side window a little and called out. "Hey, do you need a ride?" She did not answer right away. She only nodded and moved toward the door, with a hesitant slowness that struck me as strange. I blamed it on the cold or exhaustion from being stranded in the middle of nowhere. She got in without a word, shut the door, and as she settled into the seat, I saw just how soaked she was. Water pooled on the leather seat, her clothes clinging to her skin. Her tangled hair hung in thick strands around her face. She did not look at me. She just stared straight ahead, her hands clashed tightly in her lap. "Where are you headed?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "To the next town," she murmured. Her eyes fixed on the road, unblinking, almost translike. "Sure, no problem. It is not far. I tried a couple more questions to make conversation." Rough night. "Where were you coming from?" But she did not answer. She kept that blank stare I had. All I could hear was the drumming of the rain on the roof and the dull hum of the engine. The silence started to feel heavy, but I forced myself to focus on the road. After all, she was a stranger, probably exhausted and grateful to be out of the rain. Even so, after a few miles I felt her eyes on me, as if she were watching me out of the corner of her eye. I tried not to turn my head, but the weight of that stare seemed to press on me. Then she started muttering so quietly I almost missed it. Her lips were moving, her voice barely above a whisper. The words dragging together and making no sense. I listened harder and caught fragments. Dangerous, never safe. Always. Watching. Sorry. I managed to say trying to keep my tone light, though there was a tremor in it I could not hide. She did not answer. She just kept murmuring to herself. Her fingers nodding and twisting in her lap. My stomach tightened and I found myself gripping the steering wheel harder. I thought maybe she was in shock or so cold that she was out of it. But I could not shake the feeling that there was something else, something wrong. A few minutes later, without warning, she lunged for the steering wheel. Her fingers clamped down with a vise-like grip and yanked it to the right, sending us toward the ditch. I screamed struggling to pry her hands loose, but she was strong, unnaturally strong for someone her size. Her face twisted into an expression of pure rage, she bared her teeth, her eyes wide and glassy. "What are you doing?" I shouted, fighting to get control back. I felt the tires skidding, the car was fish-tailing as I wrestled her away. I managed to slam on the brakes, we lurched forward and in the jolt her grip finally loosened. I jerked the wheel straight and managed to bring us to a shaking stop on the shoulder. My hands were trembling as I tried to catch my breath, my heart pounding, every nerve on high alert. I turned to yell at her to demand what the hell she thought she was doing, but she was gone. The passenger door was hanging open, swaying in the rain and the seat was empty. I just stared, my mind trying to piece together what had happened. I stumbled out, the rain lashed against me as I called out. "Hello, where did you go?" My voice sounded small, swallowed by the storm. There was no response, only the endless tapping of rain on the pavement and the whisper of the nearby trees. I shined my phone flashlight around, searching for any trace, but the rain had already washed everything away. Shaken and confused I climbed back into the car, slammed the door and locked it. My hands were still shaking. I looked around, expecting her to reappear on the side of the road, with that unsettling expression on her face. My fingers still tingled where she had grabbed the wheel and a faint smell of wet earth clung to the seat beside me. A disturbing reminder that she had in fact been there. I started the car and kept going, my focus completely shattered. Every part of me was tense, and my eyes kept jumping to the passenger seat every few seconds, as if she might suddenly materialize there again, soaked and staring at me. When I finally saw the lights of the next town, I drove straight to the police station. I did not even know exactly what I was going to say, but I knew I could not just let it go. Inside, I explained to the desk officer that I had picked up a woman stranded on the road and that she had disappeared under strange circumstances. I did my best to describe her, the soaked clothes, the long dark hair, that expression of fear that never left her face. The officer listened carefully and then exchanged a look with another nearby officer. "We actually have a missing person report that matches that description," he said, opening a file. She has been missing since last night, a woman in her mid-30s diagnosed with schizophrenia. Her family reported that she ran away from home convinced that someone was following her, or that she was in some kind of danger. A chill ran through me as the pieces fell into place. She truly believed she was being followed, that frantic look in her eyes, her desperation. It was not just the rain or the isolation, she honestly thought something was after her. I gave them the exact spot where I had last seen her, hoping it would help. The next morning I got a call, the police had found her not far from where I had stopped. She was disoriented but unharmed and they were able to reunite her with her family. In the end, I helped her get back to the people who cared about her. She was not just some mystery lost in the rain, she was a real person who needed someone to care enough to stop, even though it could have ended badly for both of us. I am glad I was able to help her find her way back home. Story 4 Honing a flower shop may sound relaxing, but most days it is hard work. Early mornings extremely long shifts, and sometimes the occasional late-night delivery. Even so, it is worth it. There is a kind of peace that comes from working with flowers. The smell of freshly cut bouquets. The way each arrangement adds a touch of beauty to someone's day. That night I was driving home after an exhausting shift. The sun was sinking behind the trees, painting the quiet rural road orange. I liked that road home, slower, yes, but beautiful, and at that hour it was usually deserted. The calm did not last. I was just about to reach the wooded stretch when I spotted a figure in the distance, completely still at the edge of the road. At first I thought it was a trick of the dying light, maybe a shadow cast by the trees, but as I got closer I saw her clearly, a woman standing motionless, clutching something against her chest. The sight unsettled me, but I could not just keep driving. As I approached I slowed down and lowered the window slightly to get a better look. She looked to be in her thirties, thin and pale with dark hair. Her clothes were old fashioned and seemed strangely out of place. She was cradling an old battered doll, a faded porcelain relic with cracked skin and lifeless button eyes. She was murmuring softly to it, her lips moving in a faint whisper. The doll itself was unsettling, but the way she held it, as if it were a living breathing companion, made the whole thing even stranger. "Do you need a ride?" I asked. Her eyes lifted suddenly and locked on to mine. There was a strange intensity in her gaze, a silent plea that seemed to wrap around me, pushing me to open the door. She nodded almost mechanically and got into the passenger seat without a word. The doll remained tucked against her chest. One of its cracked eyes caught the last threat of evening light as the woman settled in. We started driving again, and I could not shake the bad feeling. She stared straight ahead, but every now and then she looked down at the doll, smoothing its tangled hair and whispering to it in a voice so low I could not make out the words. I tried to dismiss it. Maybe she was eccentric. Maybe the doll was her way of coping with something. Even so the way she cradled it, the gentleness with which her fingers traced that cracked face, made my skin crawl. "Where are you headed?" I finally asked, trying to break the silence. She did not answer right away. She kept looking at the doll. Even in a whisper that felt more like a secret than a reply, she said, "It is not safe here." I let out a nervous little laugh, trying to lighten the meaning of her words. "Well, we are on a pretty quiet road. I do not think we are in much danger out here." Then she looked at me, eyes wide open, unblinking. She says it is not safe. She always knows. I forced a smile, not knowing how to react. "Who, your doll?" The woman's gaze dropped back to the toy, and she stroked its cheek the way someone might comfort a child. You should listen to her, she always knows. I swallowed hard and focused on the road, though every glance at the passenger seat made my stomach tighten. Something was wrong, though I could not say exactly what. Her whispered conversations with the doll became more frequent, and I started catching fragments. "Yes, we will be careful. And I know I know but he is helping us, as if the two of them shared a secret that I was being excluded from. After a few minutes I tried to change the subject. Do you live around here?" The woman did not answer immediately. Instead she lifted the doll to her ear, as if, listening. Then she looked at me again, her stare sharp and piercing. She does not like questions. A children through me, I gave a forced laugh, shaky even to my own ears. Got it, no questions. She went back to whispering to the doll. Her voice was soft and rhythmic, almost as if she were lulling it to sleep. I could not make out the words, but the tone was protective, as though she feared something out there, just beyond the reach of the headlights. The sky kept darkening as we drove. The trees cast long shadows that seemed to squeeze the road tighter with every passing minute. The air inside the car became thick, suffocating, to the point where I barely felt I could breathe. I could feel her eyes on me, watching from the corner of her gaze, as if she were waiting for something, for me to make a mistake, or to understand something that still escaped me. At last I could not take it anymore. I pulled over my hands trembling on the wheel. Listen, I said, I think this is as far as I can take you. The next town is just ahead. For a long moment she did not move. She looked at me in silence, her fingers still combing through the doll's hair. Then without a word she opened the door and got out, clutching the doll tightly to her chest. I watched her walk away along the shoulder, in the opposite direction, back the way we had come. That made everything even stranger. It was as if she had never needed the ride at all. I sat there trying to make sense of it. I could barely make out her figure in the rear-view mirror. The doll held tightly in her arms. Her lips moving again in that same quiet murmur as she spoke to it. The scene made the hair on the back of my neck rise. Against all common sense I rolled down the window and called after her. "Hey, are you sure you are okay?" I do not know why I did it. I was looking for an explanation, something that would make all of this feel less surreal. She stopped. Slowly she turned her head to look at me. Her face half lit by the red glow of my brake lights. She hugged the doll even tighter. as if protecting it from me. She held my gaze with an intensity that was almost disturbing. "You should not have stopped," she said softly. "She says you should never stop. She always knows when it is safe." Then she started walking again, continuing down the road until she disappeared into the shadows. I did not stay. I rolled up the window, locked the doors and stepped on the gas. Even as I drove, I could not get the image of her out of my mind in the mirror, walking back the way she had come, or maybe looking for someone else to stop. I have driven that road several times since then, and every time I catch myself staring at the shoulder, convinced that I will see her there again, moving along with that doll in her arms. Story 5. A few years ago, I was living in central London's own one, which meant pretty much everything was within walking distance and generally speaking. It felt safe even at night. I was around 20 years old and had gone out club hopping with my friend Jess. Now Jess was famous for going way overboard whenever alcohol was involved, and that night was no exception. Despite my attempts to get her to pace herself with water between drinks, she was going full speed with the tequila shots. At first everything was fine. We were dancing, laughing, having a great time, until I found her acting like an absolute disaster with one of the bathroom attendants. I will not go into all the unpleasant details. But let's just say I literally had to drag her out before she got herself banned from the place. Even so, it was already too late. One of the bouncers saw the chaos and told Jess that it was time to call it a night. I agreed. It was not the first time I had dealt with one of her midnight meltdowns. I was hoping she would sober up a little outside so we could walk home. It was not that far, but she wanted absolutely nothing to do with that. That same balancer even came outside and offered to call us a licensed cab so we could get home safely, which I really appreciated because I did not have any reliable taxi numbers on hand. He also said he would bring Jess some clean cold water while we waited, which was a lot better than the warm bottle I had in my bag. The cab arrived shortly after. It was an older man, maybe in his fifties, who looked like somebody's uncle. Short, balding, a little potbellied, and Southeast Asian. He seemed harmless. I even noticed a photo on the dashboard that looked like it was of his kids, and he was wearing a wedding ring which only reinforced that sense of normalcy. He dropped us off in front of my building and while Jess collapsed onto a bench, I lit a cigarette and leaned against the door to get some air before going inside. But the guy did not leave. He just stayed there with the engine running which I thought was not that unusual. Maybe he was waiting for his next fare. When I finished my cigarette I realized I could not open the door. My building had this old jammed front door that took forever to budge. Sometimes you had to fight with it for 15 or 20 minutes before it would finally open. I kept fumbling with it, getting more and more frustrated, and then I noticed that the driver had gotten out of the car and was walking toward us. He said he wanted to help, and while part of me appreciated the gesture, another part of me started to feel uncomfortable. I thanked him, but told him we were actually going to a friend's place nearby. That was a lie. Everyone I knew was asleep, but I was trying to give him a polite excuse to leave. He insisted on taking us, and Jess suddenly full of energy as if by magic climbed back into the car like it was nothing. She did not see the red flags waving all over the place. So there I was again sitting in the back seat with her, going against my instincts. Then he started asking deeply unsettling personal questions, whether we lived alone, whether we had boyfriends, whether anyone was waiting for us. I sobered up instantly the moment he mentioned taking us to King's Cross, which made no sense at that hour when barely any trains were running. I knew I had to get us out of that car. I told him I needed to call someone before going anywhere and asked him to stop so I could have a quick cigarette. He pulled over, and I basically yanked Jess out of the seat. Told the guy we would be fine from there, and politely asked him to go on his way. He nodded and drove off around the corner. I felt a little guilty for distrusting him. Maybe he really was just being overly helpful, but something did not sit right with me. We tried the front door again, and of course it still would not open. By then I was even more nervous probably fumbling with the keys more from anxiety than anything else. Jess tried too, but she was in no state to help. And then because of course the night still was not over, the man came back around the corner and said he was just checking to see if we were okay. At first it might have passed his concern. A middle-aged man making sure two girls were not stranded on the street. But then it got weird. He came right up to me, took the keys out of my hand as if I were a child and started trying to open the door himself. Eventually I snatched them back and managed to get it open. And when I stepped inside he got way too close to me. Jess still half out of it thanked him with a hug and disappeared down the hallway. I tried to say, "Thanks, have a good night." But that was not enough for him. Before I could get all the way inside he grabbed me by the arms, leaned in and tried to kiss me full-on aggressively. His face was rough, his breath smelled like cheap aftershave, and his tongue, he was trying to force it into my mouth. I jerked away, disgusted, but he did not stop. Instead he licked my face. Yes, he licked my face. I think my brain blanked out for a second, but I managed to headbut him and then drive my knee straight into his groin. He let go of me immediately, shocked, and I slammed the door behind me and bolted up the stairs with Jess behind me. Still completely clueless about what had happened. I locked the front door bolt and then my bedroom door too, just in case, and stood staring out the window while he drove around the street a few more times, as if he were waiting for me to come back down for another cigarette or something. I did not sleep much that night. I was disgusted, furious, and scared. I kept replaying the whole scene in my head, wondering if I should have called the police or at least warned the club about him. I will never know what he really had in mind, but I'm grateful I got away when I did. And yes, I do not care how nice a cab driver seems now. I am not taking any more chances. Story 6 This happened in April 2018. I was just about to head out for my lunch break at work when a good friend texted me and told me to stop by her house because they were celebrating her father's birthday. At first, I told her, "Girl, your place is far from here and traffic is terrible right now." But then almost casually, she mentioned that there would be carbonara, my absolute favorite dish. And I swear I was already halfway to the taxi stand before she even finished the sentence. You know how food can make you rethink every logical decision you were about to make. Yeah, that was me. I got into the first taxi I saw outside the office. The driver seemed perfectly normal, friendly, a little chatty, smiling at me through the rear-view mirror, asking the usual things about what I thought of the traffic and how unbearably hot the day was. Standard conversation. Nothing strange. Yet, he started telling me that he had worked abroad, saved money, come back to the country and bought a car so he could work as a taxi driver. He mentioned that he was single and lived not too far from my job. At that point, I did not think much of it. He asked where I was going and I told him I was heading to a friend's house for her father's birthday. I mean, people shared things with taxi drivers all the time, right? It sounded harmless. Until he asked whether I had a boyfriend, I dodged the question and told him no. And that was when the vibe changed. Suddenly, he seemed much more interested. He kept looking at me in the mirror, throwing out compliments, saying I was pretty impotete. That nod of discomfort in my stomach kicked in fast. Traffic still was not moving. Then, completely casually, he suggested that I ditch the birthday plans and go have lunch with him instead. He said he would pay. He also mentioned stopping by my house and said he could start picking me up from work, as if we had suddenly become some kind of weird couple. I had been in the car maybe 15 minutes, and I was already thinking about how to get out of the situation. Then came the part where he asked for my number. I tried to brush it off, but he kept insisting and insisting. He even started taking strange turns, as if he were deliberately making the ride longer. I was so tense that I started texting my friend. telling them where I was and how uncomfortable I felt. At one point he even stopped the car to ask someone for directions, and I seriously considered opening the door and running. But for some reason I froze and stayed put. He got back in with a smile that made my skin crawl and said that he already knew where my friend's house was, but that he would not take me there unless I gave him my number. That was when it really hit me that I had messed up. I tried to look for the license plate through the windows so I could send it to my friends, and he noticed. "Do not bother," he said. "I just bought this car. It is not even registered in my name yet." At that point I was practically terrified. I ended up giving him my number, thinking that if I gave him a fake one and he tried calling it right there, I would be in even more trouble. He did not even call it. He just nodded and finally started driving again. When I recognized my friend's street, I felt an enormous wave of relief. He said that he would wait for me to take me back to work or take me out later, but I shut that down immediately. I called my friend and asked her to come out to the door right away. And the second I saw her at the gate, I jumped out of the car, paid and rushed inside. I stood by the window and watched the taxi sit there for a while before he finally drove away. My friend was upset with me for not running when I had the chance, but she was also really worried. Her father was not happy either. To cheer me up, they basically let me attack the carbonara without limits. I stayed there for a couple of hours just to make sure that guy was no longer hanging around. When it was finally time to go back to work, I did not take any chances. I booked a taxi through an app with driver details and GPS tracking. No surprise visits, no friendly conversations. He tried calling and texting me for weeks, but I blocked him and never saw him near my office again. Honestly, I hope I never run into him again. That whole experience may be rethink how safe it really is to go out alone even in broad daylight. Over time though, I have managed to move on and feel like myself again. Story 7 This happened about three years ago during a summer vacation. I went away with my boyfriend and his family. The whole trip had been amazing. Sunny beach days, swimming in the sea, exploring the city, all the good stuff. But there was one night in particular that stayed with me, and not for a good reason. During the trip, we spent a lot of time with his step-sister. She is a bit younger than us, and honestly, she was a little clingy and way too into alcohol, but we still brought her along with us most of the time. One night, she had the brilliant idea of trying to find a nightclub, even though only my boyfriend was old enough to get out. Even though we pointed that out, we all set off on that drunken adventure to the other side of the island, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I was stumbling all over the place, falling over more than I would like to admit. But we were laughing and far too drunk to worry about it. When we finally got to the club, it was dead. Apparently, it was already 2 a.m., and everyone was leaving, which was a letdown. So instead, we went into the McDonald's next door to order something to eat. I placed my order until my boyfriend and his step-sister that I needed some air, so I went outside to smoke a cigarette. While I was out there, a black car pulled into the taxi area. My legs were wrecked from all the walking and falling, and I was way too drunk to even think about walking back. So I asked the driver how much it would cost to take us to the hotel. He said 10 euros, but I only had 5. I begged a little, saying that we were tourists and did not really know the area, and surprisingly he agreed to take us for 5. My boyfriend and his step-sister came out of McDonald's just as I was talking to the guy, and I told them he had offered to take us. The man seemed surprised to see that I was not alone, but he told us to get in. When we were about to get into the car, he asked me to sit in the front. At the time, I did not think much of it, even though my boyfriend was not too happy about it, but I was drunk and went along with it anyway. At first everything was fine, we were joking around, music was playing, and the ride was almost fun. He was talkative, asking where we were from and things like that, but little by little he started getting weird. He held my hand while he was driving. I brushed it off, thinking it was just an over-the-top attempt at being friendly. Then he did it more times and I started to feel uncomfortable. Then it got worse. Out of nowhere he grabbed my hand and put it on his thigh, keeping it there even when I tried to pull it away. I shifted away in my seat and he finally let go. I looked at my boyfriend's step-sister in the back seat and she mouthed. "Are you okay?" I nodded, mostly because I did not know what else to do. She whispered something to my boyfriend and both of them went quiet. A few minutes later when we were getting close to the hotel, he grabbed my hand again, this time placing it on my own thigh and holding it there tightly. I was wearing a short dress and as soon as his hand started moving upward I froze. I clamped my leg shut and stared out the window, praying we would get there soon. My boyfriend noticed that something was wrong until the guy to stop. The driver left it off, called himself friendly, but did not stop what he was doing. The situation escalated quickly, even with my boyfriend and his sister shouting at him to stop. He kept driving and insisting that we were almost there. He did not stop and then he used his hand to touch me somewhere and no one has any right to touch. I was too scared and frozen to move. When we finally stopped in front of the hotel, I jumped out without saying a word and looked at my boyfriend. I told him straight out. He touched me. My boyfriend lost it. He ran to the driver's window, yelling, ready to confront him, but the guy sped off so fast that we barely had time to react. My boyfriend managed to kick the back of the car and left a dent in the plate. We went inside and I poured myself more drinks trying to numb the whole experience. The next morning we had a boat trip planned with his family and several people asked me if I was okay because they had heard that something had happened. I said yes, even though inside I was still shaking. I thought I had put it behind me until we walked out to the front of the hotel and I saw the taxi stand. All the cars parked there were white, the yellow taxi signs on the roof. That was when it hit me. The man from the night before was not even a real taxi driver. That guy saw a drunk 17-year-old girl by herself, assumed she would be an easy target and pretended to be a taxi driver to lure me into his car. Before he ate, this happened when I was 19 and living in London. I had spent the night at my boyfriend's house and since his car was in the shop, he booked me a taxi to get home. The ride was about 30 minutes. Right before I got in, he kissed me and loudly enough for the driver to hear said, "Text me when you get home." At the time I thought it was a sweet gesture, looking back it was almost a blessing. As soon as I got in, the driver seemed friendly. He asked me a bit about college and what I was studying. At first, it all sounded like normal small talk, but the conversation quickly took a weird turn. He started saying that he was from Pakistan and that he was Muslim and then asked if I was too. My family is Iranian and comes from a Muslim background, but I do not practice. Even so, I nodded and said yes. I did not feel like explaining anything or creating an awkward moment. That answer seemed to trigger something in him because suddenly he started saying that I looked like a good Muslim girl and that he would love to marry someone exactly like me. By then, I was already feeling very uncomfortable and I noticed that he took a street that added about 15 minutes to the trip. I knew the usual route and this was not it. I quickly texted my boyfriend. This taxi driver is acting super weird and since he had told me to keep texting him until I got home, I thought that would buy me some safety. But that plan fell apart a few minutes later. He stopped replying. Either he had fallen asleep or just was not paying attention. Meanwhile, the driver asked me if the guy who had kissed me goodbye was my boyfriend. I did not hesitate. I said yes, trying to make it sound as serious as possible, hoping he would back off. But no, he kept making disturbing comments about wanting a girl exactly like me. Then, without warning, he pressed the lock button and I heard all the doors clicked shut. I asked why he had locked them and he smiled and said, for safety, my stomach dropped. I tried to stay calm, but inside I was panicking. The streets were dark [BLANK_AUDIO] empty, and I was basically trapped in a car with a man who clearly was not just making conversation. He started asking invasive and disgusting questions, whether I was a virgin, whether I had ever done anything with a guy. I went rigid, not answering, just texting my boyfriend over and over again, hoping he would finally respond. Nothing. When we finally stopped in front of my house, all I wanted was to get out of that car, but he made it worse by overcharging me and saying that he had my number through the booking, and that he would call me so we could meet up. I told him I was in a relationship and that my family would never accept it. He smirked and said, "It can be our little secret. I went to open the door, but it was still locked. He laughed as if it were some kind of game, and then stared at me in the rear-view mirror for what felt like forever. My whole body went cold. The street was completely silent. Finally he unlocked the doors and I bolted out. I ran to my building entrance, fumbling with my keys, and started banging on the door until my mother opened it. She looked at me and asked why I looked like I had seen a ghost. I told her everything. She was furious and immediately called the taxi company. It turned out that it was not the first time he had done something like that. They said they would fire him immediately. We also reported him to the police, but since he had not physically assaulted me, they told us there was not really anything they could do. Even so it was one of the most terrifying taxi rides I have ever had, and it made me think twice before ever getting into a stranger's car alone again. 29. This happened when I was around 10 years old. My family moved around a lot because my father was in the military, and we spent several years stationed in the Middle East. That meant we took a lot of weekend trips to nearby countries, since flights were cheap and everything was super close. One weekend we decided to go to Cairo, Egypt, just a short flight from where we were living. At the time I did not know that Cairo had a reputation for kidnappings, which looking back now makes what happened next feel even worse. We landed late, very late, probably sometime after midnight, and the Marriott was supposed to send a hotel shuttle for us. Surprise, no one showed up, so we spent quite a while trying to find a normal taxi that was not trying to rip us off. Eventually one guy offered us a flat rate that sounded reasonable. We seemed friendly and helped us with our luggage. We got in and started making our way through the streets of Cairo, but not even 10 minutes had passed before another taxi slammed into the side of our car, a full-on T-bone, out of nowhere. There was no clearly defined road, no lanes, nothing like that, so maybe in terms of Cairo traffic it was not that surprising, but it definitely scared us. Both drivers got out and immediately started screaming at each other at the top of their lungs in Arabic. I remember thinking they were about to start throwing punches right there in the street. After all the drama they ended up getting back into their cars as if nothing had happened, and we continued on to the hotel like it was just any random Tuesday night. When we finally got to the hotel, we were exhausted. It must have been around 3 a.m. The driver helped us unload in an effort to make a good impression, apologize for the whole accident situation. He even offered to take us to see the pyramids the next morning at a discount, since that was already part of our plan. My parents agreed and arranged a time for him to come back. I do not remember the exact time, but I do remember thinking it was great that he was being so nice. The next morning we were already dressed and ready to go. The driver was waiting outside the hotel, leaning against his car like he was posing for a scene in an old movie. This is where everything started to get weird. I was a blonde blue-eyed little girl with a pretty dark tan from living in the Middle East. In Egypt I stood out quite a lot. When the driver saw me and brought daylight, the look he gave me was wrong. It was not friendly or curious. It was disturbing. My ten-year-old brain immediately picked up that something was not right. Even so we got into the car because, you know, my parents were there, and on the surface everything seemed normal. But during the entire ride, the man kept trying to talk directly to me. He told jokes, asked questions, and acted way too familiar for someone who should have been focused on driving. It gave me a bad feeling, and the fact that he did not seem to care that my mother and father were sitting right there and made it even worse. As we got closer to the pyramids, there were two entrances, one for pedestrians and one for vehicles. You had to buy tickets to get in, which seemed strange to me at the time. The driver kept joking over and over that he could sneak me in for free because of my pretty hair and eyes, and that my parents would not even have to pay for me. My parents brushed him off with uncomfortable laughs, paid him for the ride, and started walking toward the entrance. But before I could follow them, the man suddenly got out of the car and motioned for me to come to the back. I thought maybe we had forgotten a bag or something. I walked over to the trunk while my parents kept moving a few steps ahead. He opened the trunk, but there was nothing inside. I just stood there, confused. And then suddenly he grabbed my arm and put his hand on my back, pushing me toward the open trunk while repeating, "Do not worry, I'll get you in for free." That was the moment when my whole head screamed at danger. I started calling for my parents at the top of my lungs. I went into complete panic. The second I screamed, he let go of me, slammed the trunk shut, and got back into the car as if nothing had happened. He drove off just as my parents came running toward me in a panic. I was crying uncontrollably, completely shaken and terrified. We never saw him again. My parents reported him, but nothing happened because, technically, he had not actually hurt me. Even so, to this day, I cannot get into a taxi, Uber, or anything like that without that moment coming back to me. Story 10. This happened last week, and honestly, I am still on edge. I live in a small country, not exactly a wealthy one, and I would rather not say which one. But let's just say it is far ahead of the United States in terms of time zone, about 16 hours ahead of New York. Most people hear own cars, but taxis are the main way to get around. And when I say taxis, I do not mean anything official. Very much anyone with a car and some vague government permit can call themselves a driver. No lit signs, no plastic partitions. No visible credentials or license numbers. Basically, you get into a random car with someone who says they will take you wherever for the equivalent of $0.75. Crazy right. Anyway, last week was my birthday, and I went out with some friends over the weekend to celebrate at a little place downtown. We had a good time, a few drinks, lots of laughing, all that. When it was time to head home, I got a separate taxi because I live about 10 to 15 minutes away from the rest of them. The ride back was completely normal. When we got to my building, I paid the driver and literally ran inside because, well, let's just say my bladder was a defcon one. I went straight downstairs to the bathroom and did not even think about locking the door behind me. Since I was already downstairs, I thought I would take a quick shower, get comfortable for bed, and then head back upstairs to make myself a snack and watch something light before passing out. A couple of hours went by and I finally decided to go downstairs to sleep. I turned off the lights and got into bed when all of a sudden I heard a creaking sound in the corner of the room. At first I thought it was probably a rat or some kind of bug in the closet. Honestly, that would not have been too surprising here. I tried to ignore it, but the noise kept going and I knew I would not be able to sleep unless I checked. I sat up, turned on the light and my heart nearly stopped. The closet door was slightly open, just enough for me to see a pair of eyes, human eyes staring right at me. I froze then screamed. The door flew open and a man came bolting out. It turned out to be the same taxi driver who had dropped me off earlier. I was in shock, but I managed to grab the back of his shirt when he tried to run out. The fabric torn my hand. He got away before I could do anything else. I still had a bit of alcohol in my system, but adrenaline was racing through me. I had not locked the door when I came in. In this country it is pretty normal to leave it unlocked until bedtime. People are usually kind and trustworthy, and nothing had ever happened to me before. But apparently, while I was downstairs getting cleaned up, that man came into my house and hid in the closet in my bedroom the entire time. it still gives me chills just thinking about it. I reported it to the police the next morning, but honestly, the system here is overwhelmed in chaotic. There was a horrible murder in the area recently, so they are swamped and not really equipped to handle something like this. I did not have the license plate or anything useful, just the color of the car and what he looked like, and since anyone can use their personal vehicle as a taxi, who knows how many identical cars are out there. Since then, I have been staying at a friend's house to feel a little safer. I keep trying to tell myself that it was probably an isolated incident. I have been living here for over a year without any serious problems, but you can bet that from now on I will be checking the locks three times. Lesson learned the hard way. Story 11. A few years ago, I made a quick stop at Walmart on my way home after hanging out at a friend's place. It was almost 1 a.m. that time of night when the streets are silent and the only people still out are those getting off a shift or the night owls. I had lived in that area for years, and it had always seemed pretty safe to me, so I didn't hesitate to go in alone, even as a woman in my twenties. As soon as I walked through the automatic doors, I made eye contact with a teenage girl sitting alone on the bench near the bathrooms. She looked extremely nervous, like she was about to fall apart, clutching a backpack and a purse while checking her phone desperately. For a second, she looked at me as if trying to decide whether I was someone she could trust, and then she immediately looked back down at her phone, clearly trying to get in touch with someone. What caught my attention even more was an older man sitting at the other end of the bench. He had white hair, jeans and a plain t-shirt. At first glance, he looked completely normal. The kind of older guy you might see at a hardware store, but he did not look at me even once as I walked by. Instead he had his eyes fixed on the girl and not in a casual way. He was watching her with an unsettling intensity, like he was sizing her up, and she was visibly uncomfortable, sitting on the very edge of the seat. Her body turned away from him, as if trying to get as far from him as possible without standing up. Something about that man gave me a strange uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Normally I am the kind of person who takes my time in stores, wandering through the aisles for no real reason. But that night I grabbed what I needed as fast as I could. I did not even stop to browse, and the whole time I could not stop thinking about that guy. I even took the small pocket knife I carry out of my bag and moved it to the front pocket of my pants, just in case. That is how uneasy he made me feel. When I went to check out, I glanced back toward the bench by the entrance. The man had moved closer to the girl and was trying to start a conversation, and she looked like she was about to bolt. I saw her shaking her head, barely responding, doing everything she could to keep him at a distance without causing a scene. As I walked past them on my way out, the girl suddenly called out to me and asked if I was heading toward a small town where I used to live. It turned out she had come with some friends for a quick trip. While they stopped to buy something and use the bathroom, she got separated from the group. Then they left without her. That Walmart was about 30 minutes from where she needed to get back to, and the road back was, for the most part, a dark deserted highway. It was not a place for a young girl to be walking alone at night, and the man next to her was still staring at her, without saying a word to me. Something inside me told me not to leave her there. Under normal circumstances I would have made up an excuse and said I was going the opposite way, but in that moment I knew I could not do that. I told her I would drive her home. She looked more than relieved and tried to offer me gas money and a cigarette. I refused both. I was not acting carelessly. I texted a couple of friends to let them know what I was doing and where I was going, just in case. She was tiny. Probably no more than 100 pounds and shorter than me, so I felt that if something went wrong I could defend myself. When she gave me her address, I realized I knew the area. It was a quiet neighborhood, not far from where I used to play baseball and hang out at the community pool. During the drive she told me that she had recently moved to the area with her mom and her little sisters, and that she had gone out that night with old friends. Her mother was not expecting her until the next day, so she had not answered any of her calls. She was probably asleep or at work. When we got to her house she thanked me over and over again. She even shook my hand and asked if there was anything she could do for me. I just smiled and told her, "Yes, get better friends." Looking back on it, I still do not know exactly what that man was planning, but there was something about him that felt deeply wrong to me. At first I thought maybe he was waiting for someone in the bathroom or just killing time. But now that I think about it, there was no one else in the store, so who could he have been waiting for? When I got home I woke up my mom and told her everything. She was not thrilled that I had given a ride to a stranger, but she agreed that something pushed me to act, and that maybe I really did help that girl avoid something terrible. Story 12. One night I drove to Lacey Washington because I was supposed to pick up a handgun I had recently bought for personal defense. The store had told me through the website and by email that it was ready, but when I got there, surprise, surprise, they did not actually have it in stock and told me to come back in a week. I was already in a bad mood. To make things worse I had shown up right at the beginning of rush hour. The idea of driving an hour back home stuck in traffic sounded like a nightmare. So I decided to kill some time and wait for it to clear up instead of crawling along for two hours. Oh and one more detail. I was not even in my own car. I was using my dad's because mine had died the year before. After wandering around the store for a while with no real purpose, I went to a nearby cafe with a cozy modern cabin vibe. It was really nice. I ordered a dirty chie and decided to keep wasting time. I drove down the street and pulled into a gas station parking lot, not to get gas, but simply to hang out for a while and wait for traffic to die down. I parked right on the corner near a four-way intersection, turned off the engine, and got out to smoke a cigarette. I did not want my dad's car to smell like smoke. It was one of those cold, drizzly fall afternoons where it is not really raining, but everything is damp and the street lights look blurred through the mist. I was standing there zoning out, sipping my drink and watching the traffic lights change through the haze. When I noticed a guy halfway across the street walking straight toward me, I had not even seen him coming. He looked like he was in his 20s. Kind of scruffy, strawberry blonde or maybe red headed. And he had an old worn-out backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked rough, dirty, clothes, tired face, but nothing obviously threatening at first glance. I figured maybe he was homeless or dealing with something serious, maybe drugs. He was limping as he crossed like something hurt, but he never took his eyes off me the entire time. Out of reflex, I locked the car, even though I stayed outside. I am not the most social person in the world, but I also do not like being rude for no reason. So when he asked if I had a light, I gave a hesitant, yeah, and stepped forward to help. He leaned in with a cigarette and I littered for him, keeping some distance. Then he started making small talk, saying he had just gotten off the bus that he needed to get somewhere nearby. That kind of vague story people sometimes use when they are about to ask you for something. And of course, right in the middle of it, he suddenly stopped and said, "Hey, could you give me a ride real quick? It's just right over there really close." I was already on alert, so I came up with a quick excuse about how it was my dad's car, and I could not give rides without his permission. It sounded believable enough, but the guy's whole attitude changed the second I told him no. That force little smile disappeared from his face and suddenly he seemed irritated, more pushy. Come on, it's literally just around the corner. He sat in a whining tone, and then added, "My leg is killing me. I'll even give you a cigarette." That mix of desperation and strange anger immediately gave me a really bad feeling. I stood my ground and told him no again, trying to stay polite. I suggested he ask inside the gas station or call a ride service, but he was not interested. His fists started clenching, not like he was about to hit me, more like a kid on the verge of throwing a tantrum. For a second he just stared at me like he was calculating something, and I knew I was not going to stick around to find out what it was. I told him to take care, unlock the car quickly, got in, and locked it again. When I looked up he was already walking away, but here is the unsettling part. He was moving fast. He was not limping anymore. No sign of pain, no dragging his foot. Just a normal quick stride like that injured leg had never existed in the first place. Just an angry guy heading back the way he had come. That was the moment it really hit me that something was not right. Honestly, I felt pretty stupid for hanging around alone in the city after dark, even if it was only to avoid traffic. At that point I did not care how bad the roads were. I started the engine and drove straight home. It took me almost two hours, but I did not care at all. I was just grateful I had gotten away from whatever that guy may have had in mind. And deep down, I knew I had avoided something really bad. Story 13 This happened about three years ago, back when I was still living in Orlando. My friend, let's call her V, and I had the spontaneous idea to take a road trip to Savannah, Georgia. At the time we were really into creepy history and thought it would be the perfect place to explore haunted spots without having to drive too far. On top of that, we had this odd urge to go hiking while we were there. It did not really fit the ghost theme, but at the time it somehow made sense to us. The whole thing was pretty improvised. We packed our bags and left. The drive took longer than it should have around six hours because we kept stopping. And when we finally got to the hotel, we realized we had not planned anything. Very on-brand for us. We started googling what to do and ended up booking a haunted house tour and a ghost walk for later that night. Since we had a few hours free before they started, we decided to find a nearby trail and go for a short walk. After a quick search on Google Maps, we found a trail just off a two-lane road surrounded by trees, only a short drive away. We got there, and it looked fine. Nothing special. There was a small dirt parking lot and a trail information sign that said the whole loop was only about a mile. It was not exactly a deep wilderness adventure, but since we were already there, we decided to walk it anyway. At first, it was incredibly quiet with no one in sight, and the trail itself was pretty simple and easy. About halfway through, we came across a side path that opened up to a baseball field. Beyond that, we could make out a few buildings, including what looked like a gas station in the distance. We did not leave the trail. We just took a look and kept going to the end. Then we turned around and started heading back the way we had come. We were talking and not paying much attention because from the moment we arrived, we had not seen a single person. That was when I noticed someone. He was maybe 100 feet behind us, walking in the same direction. I said to Vee in a calm voice, "Hey, don't freak out, but there's someone behind us." Now Vee tends to be a little dramatic, and I say that lovingly so I tried not to alarm her. Still, she turned around immediately, looked back and whispered, "What do we do?" I told her it was probably nothing and that we should just keep walking. But a minute later, I looked back again and saw that the guy was definitely getting closer. He had picked up his pace to close the distance. That was when I started to feel uneasy. I told Vee, "Okay, this is a little weird. She tensed up and kept asking what we should do. I told her I had my heavy metal water bottle in my backpack and pulled it out just in case. To be fair, nothing had actually happened yet, but the fact that he had not set a single word just kept silently getting closer was enough to make us nervous. We kept walking, and eventually we could see the trail head in the distance. I think we both started to relax a little, thinking we were almost back at the car and out of that weird situation. Right then, the guy finally spoke. He was maybe 25 feet behind us and called out to us. I turned and asked what he needed, but without stopping. He did not answer until he got a little closer, which immediately rubbed me the wrong way. So I made sure he could see the metal bottle in my hands. A visual signal that we were not going to be easy targets. He looked about our age in his 20s, and he was at least half a head shorter than I am. I am 6 feet 2 inches, so that is not exactly hard, but still. He was wearing a green varsity-style jacket with the word Memphis on the back. He said he had just been in a car accident in the parking lot near the gas station, that his car was being towed, and then casually asked if we could give him a ride to a friend's house, supposedly just a few minutes up the road. I looked at V and could see the panic in her eyes, and honestly I did not feel good about it either. Something about that whole story did not add up. I told him we could not help trying to keep my tone firm but not aggressive. He did not argue, which strangely enough made me more uneasy than if he had. We all kept walking, making awkward small talk just to fill the silence. He asked where we were from, and before I could stop her, be blurted out the name of our city. He said he was visiting from New York and then added something like, "You have to be careful these days. There are weird people out there." And for some ridiculous reason my brain short-circuited and I replied, "And nice to meet you." He did not laugh or respond, just total silence. We finally made it back to the trail entrance and without saying another word, hurried to the car, got in, locked the doors, and sat there watching him as he walked away. Once he was far enough, we looked at each other like, "What the hell just happened?" That was when V told me the part that had scared her the most. She said she had seen something in his hand, hidden behind his jacket, like he was concealing it. I had not even noticed his hands at all, which made me feel stupid. But she swore it looked like a knife. And thinking back on it, the way he was wearing the jacket, just draped over his shoulders with his arms not actually in the sleeves, would have made it really easy to hide something. We started going over everything. Why ask for a ride in the middle of the woods when the gas station was right there with people around? Why go into an isolated area to look for help? If he really needed to get to his friend's house, why not call him from the gas station? He said he was from New York, but he was wearing a Memphis jacket. That is not a crime, obviously, but the whole picture did not make sense. We even drove over to that gas station afterward just to see if there were any signs of a crash or a tow truck. And of course there was nothing. No broken glass, no tire marks, no police, no tow truck, nothing at all. Sometimes I still think about that day. Technically nothing happened, but something about it still does not sit right with me. The only reason I think things did not go sideways is because he realized I was bigger than he was, and that maybe I would have fought back harder than he was willing to deal with. If Vee was right and he really did have a knife, I am glad we did not give him the chance to use it. I definitely learned to trust my instincts when it comes to strange encounters in isolated places. Story 14. This strange experience happened to me about five years ago, and I swear I still remember it more than I should. I was 21 at the time and attended a small university in southern Ohio, basically in the middle of nowhere. One of those schools with a single decent coffee shop and a gym that always smells like damp socks. Most of my friends went to other colleges scattered across the Midwest, so on weekends I would usually hit the road to visit them. That particular Friday I was planning to drive a couple of hours to see my friend Kyle and have the typical college weekend. Too much pizza, too much beer, and way too little sleep. I had made that trip so many times that I did not even need GPS anymore. I left campus around 6pm, but about 15 minutes later my girlfriend called me out of nowhere, which was strange because she knew I was driving. It turned out her car would not start and she needed me to take her to work. She had a night shift and figured that since I was not that far away, maybe I could swing by and save the day. Being the overly accommodating boyfriend I was back then, I agreed to turn around and pick her up. I got off the highway to check the GPS and saw there was an exit up ahead that would get me to her faster than just retracing my route. That exit connected to one of those two lane roads that cuts through trees and old houses set way back, hidden by the woods. It was October so the trees were at their peak, reds oranges, golds. For a little while the drive was actually peaceful, just scenery, the occasional driveway, and hardly any other cars in sight. About a mile later I noticed a car pulled over on the shoulder with the hood up and a guy in a button downed shirt and tie messing around under it. I am cautious, but I was also raised not to. to be a jerk. I slowed down and asked if he needed help. He looked up and gave me a friendly smile. He looked completely normal, nothing sinister, and told me that his engine had died while he was coming home from work. I offered him my phone in case he wanted to call someone but he said he already had roadside assistance. The problem was that they would not be able to get there until the next morning. Then he asked if I could give him a ride to his brother's house, supposedly four minutes farther up the road. That was when I should have said no, but I did not. I guess I got fooled by how ordinary he seemed. Besides I figured that if anything went wrong I had at least 50 pounds and a few inches on him, so I let him get in and he started directing me where to go. At first everything seemed fine, we made a little casual conversation, but then some strange warning signs started to pop up. The first red flag was how weird he got about the music. I was playing rap, nothing unusual, but every time a curse word came on he visibly flinched like it physically hurt him. I noticed and changed the song out of courtesy. A minute later without saying a word he reached over, pressed the power button and turned the entire stereo off. I tried to joke saying you do not like 50 cent, but he just stayed silent and stared out the window. That was when I started to feel uncomfortable. I asked him how much farther it was, trying to speed things along. He said about four more minutes, and my stomach dropped because that was exactly what he had said 10 minutes earlier. I told him that was as far as I was willing to take him and that he would have to walk the rest of the way. That was when everything suddenly got weird. Instead of getting annoyed, which is what I expected, he got nervous, almost pleading with me to drive him just a little farther. I told him again that I was not going any farther. Then he pulled out a thick wallet stuffed with cash and tried to bribe me, saying he would pay me for the ride. That was already more than enough for me, but what happened next still disturbs me. As he fumbled with the money, something slipped out of his wallet and landed on the seat between us. He grabbed it immediately, but not before I saw it. It was a tiny ziplock bag with what I swear were teeth in it. Human teeth, mullers, canines, a whole collection. I froze for a second and then completely lost it. I yelled at him to get out of my car and to my surprise, he did not argue. He just looked at me with wide eyes, got out and shut the door. I sped off and got out of there, and as soon as I had service I called the police. They basically shrugged it off. Told me to avoid picking up hitchhikers and said that as long as he had not actually committed a crime, there was not much they could do. To this day, I have no idea what that guy's deal was or why he was carrying around a bag of teeth. The only thing I know for sure is this. His smile looked completely normal, like he had every tooth in his mouth. I do not even want to imagine where the others came from. Story 15. This happened years ago when my son was still a baby. Back then my mother-in-law helped us out by watching him while my partner and I worked. Since I had to be at work by six o'clock in the morning, I used to get up super early, around five o'clock. Bundle up my little one, put him in the car and drive to her house to drop him off. She lived just a couple of minutes away, maybe a mile and a half at most. All along main roads, so the drive was usually uneventful. But that day, yes, that day was anything but normal. It was a cold October morning, still pretty dark, with that strange glow of dawn just before the sun comes up. I was driving south on the usual road, and as I got close to a curve, I noticed an old beat-up black car on the other side, parked in a strange way. It was not blocking traffic, but it was not properly pulled over either. It just looked wrong. I remember thinking it must have broken down. I registered it mentally and did not think much more about it. I dropped off my baby like usual, chatted with my mother-in-law for a minute, and then turned around to head north on the same road toward work. On the way back, I saw that same black car, but now it was on my side of the road. And this time there was a man standing next to it. He was wearing a white dress shirt, dress pants, and had his arms raised. In one hand, he was holding some keys, and in the other is something that looked like a wallet. He looked like a guy in his way to work who was having the worst morning imaginable, and I, being way too helpful back then, slowed down. I did not even think about how suspicious it was. I just felt bad for him. Not everyone had a cell phone back then, and I told myself that if I were in his position, I would want someone to stop. When I pulled over beside him, his face lit up like I was his salvation. He leaned in and said, "You are literally the answer to my prayers. Could you give me a ride a little farther up the road? It is not far." I asked if that was his broken down car. He smiled almost mockingly and said, "Oh, it is not even my car." And in my half-awake not yet had coffee-brain, I convinced myself that maybe it was his wife's car, or a friend's, and that he was just being sarcastic. So I told him to get in. He sat down, buckled his seatbelt. I remember that clearly because I was super strict about seatbelts from always making sure the baby was secure. And we drove off. I tried to make conversation just to be polite and asked exactly where he needed me to drop him off. That was when everything got weird and fast. Without hesitation, the guy leaned over slightly and said, "So, do you want to guess how many felonies I have?" Just like that. Word for word. I left nervously hoping it was a joke, but he was not laughing at all. I glanced over and he had this icy, deeply empty stare with the slightest smirk that made my skin crawl. My whole body tensed up immediately. I started mentally going through every self-defense trick I had ever read about, but none of that helps when you are trapped in a moving car with someone you just picked up off the road. Then he followed it up with, "Why did you think that car was mine? I cannot even legally have a license, silly girl." And then he started laughing. And then he started laughing. A horrible mocking laugh that still haunts me in nightmares. Something in me snapped. I slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched. Thank God no one was behind me because honestly all I wanted in that moment was for someone to hit me so the police would get involved. Without thinking I screamed "Get out of my car right now where I will stab you." I did not have anything to stab him with obviously, but I must have looked absolutely unhinged because he did not argue. He unbuckled and bolted out. I hit the gas and flew to work. By the time I got there I could barely talk. I was shaking, crying, and completely wrecked for the day. My co-workers were horrified when I told them what had happened. Later I had to go pick up my son and curiosity got the better of me. I took the same route and yes, that same creepy car was still parked in the exact same strange spot. I went into a gas station I had not noticed that morning. It had still been dark then and asked the cash year if she knew whose car it was. She told me it had been there since the day before. Apparently at some point it had a white rag hanging from the side mirror, which in my area is used to signal that a car is broken down and not abandoned. But the rag was gone by then. I could not bring myself to tell her what had happened to me. I just picked up my son, went home, and swore I would not take that road again for a very, very long time. Story 16. This happened maybe five or six years ago, back when I was really into going to the gym in the middle of the night. I loved working out when it was practically empty, around two or three in the morning, because I could use whatever machines I wanted without waiting. That night was no exception. I had just finished a good workout and was walking to my car, already thinking about what leftovers I was going to microwave when I got home. Then a guy approached me in the parking lot. He did not look suspicious or anything, just a normal guy. He told me his car had broken down. He said he was waiting for a tow truck, but that he needed someone to take him to a gas station a few miles away. Without really thinking I said sure and unlocked my car. It seemed like no big deal and honestly, I was still riding that post gym high and wasn't a good mood. While we were driving he started giving me directions. Right away, he gave me a strange vibe because of the way he talked. He said his name several times. I am terrible at remembering names. so I barely even registered it the first time. But then he repeated his full name over and over like he wanted to make sure it stuck in my head. I laughed it off to myself, figuring it was just some quirk or maybe nerves, and kept the conversation light so it would not feel too awkward. At one point he asked how I was feeling in what I thought about the city. So I rambled a little about my workout and how much I liked the nighttime skyline. He agreed a little too enthusiastically. Like he was trying to say the right thing. And mentioned how nice it is that there are barely any people out at that hour. Looking back, that should have been a red flag. But I was more focused on not hitting a raccoon or something on the dark road he had me turn on to. There were more direct and better lit routes to the gas station, but he insisted I take the long on lit way. Eventually we got there, and the second I pulled into the parking lot, his whole energy changed. It was like he deflated. He muttered to thank you, got out, and did not even go inside. He just stayed outside without calling anyone or going near the pumps. Here is the part that bothers me most when I think about it. The gym I used to go to was literally up on a hill above a 24 hour gas station. You could see it from the gym parking lot. If his car had really broken down, why on earth would he not just stay there and wait? Instead of hanging around outside a gym where he clearly was not a member. On top of that, he mentioned what kind of car he had, and it was an expensive brand, which did not add up either. If you drive a luxury vehicle and are waiting for a tow truck, would you not stay with the car and leave with the tow? The more I think about it, the more it gives me chills, especially the part about his name. Like he wanted to make sure I remembered him or could identify him somehow. It gave me the feeling that he expected me to recognize him, but I did not. Still do not. And I will never forget how unsettling that ride felt afterward. At the time, I thought I was just doing something nice for someone who needed help. But now, with a few more years under my belt and a lot more caution, I realized how reckless that decision was. In case anyone is wondering, this happened in central Pennsylvania. And yes, I was around 20 or 21 years old, and I'm a woman. It was a strange, uncomfortable experience that could have gone bad very easily. Story 17. When I was about 11 or 12 years old, I went through that strange stage where I was not old enough for people to fully trust me. But I was old enough for them to leave me alone if it was only for one night. I grew up in a little corner of town that almost nobody knew existed unless they lived there. It was one of those places where the houses curved into a huge shape, only eight homes, hidden away from the main roads like some forgotten corner. Our street was unbelievably quiet. Nobody ever came through unless they lived there, or were some confused driver who had taken a wrong turn, which almost never happened. It had that small town calm where nothing ever happens, except that night. It was Halloween and my family had planned to take my younger siblings to the wealthier neighborhoods on the other side of town. You know, those areas where they had out full-size candy bars and put fog machines in the yard. I had absolutely no interest in going along with my little brothers. And more importantly, I wanted to hang out with Ashley, who lived right across from me. My mom agreed to let me stay home on the condition that I locked up properly and stayed out of trouble. Easy. Ashley and I did what we always did. Sat on the curb in front of my house, talking and sorting through candy under the yellowish glow of the street light. It was getting late, probably around 11 o'clock. The neighborhood had gone quiet hours ago. No kids, no porch lights, no one else outside. That was when we saw him. He walked past the entrance to our little court like he had nowhere to be, just strolling along with his hand shoved into his jacket pockets, looking around as if he were searching for something. He was not scary in any obvious way, but something about him felt wrong. Ashley asked me if I knew him and no. I had no idea who he was, which was strange because in our neighborhood, you recognized everyone, even if it was just by their car or their dog. A few minutes later, he came by again, and then again. By the third or fourth time, it was no longer just unusual. It was intentional. He was not out for exercise. His clothes did not match the weather or the hour. And those heavy workboots sounded way too loud against the pavement. We stayed sitting there trying to act normal, but I could tell Ashley was tense. I was too. On the fifth pass, he did not keep walking. He stopped right at the mouth of our street, under the street light, and just stood there, not looking at a phone, not bending down to tie his shoe, just standing still with his hand strangely buried in his pockets, staring in our direction. He was not physically intimidating. Average guy, pale skin, a few days worth of beard, a dad belly tan jacket. But there was something in the way he kept shifting his attention between the area around him and us, like he was deciding what to do next. I told Ashley I was going inside, and she nodded. We were both clearly ready to call it a night. I walked her to her house because I was that kind of friend. I always made sure people got inside safely. Then I jogged back to mine, already tasting the relief of being indoors. But the door was locked. I turned the knob and nothing. I tried again, harder, still nothing. That was when it hit me that I did not have a key. We never locked the door unless everyone was already inside. I stood there frozen for a few seconds, my mind spinning. This was before any of us had cell phones, so I had no way to contact my family. I was just stuck there. I figured I could get in through the sliding door in the backyard. So I started making my way around the side of the house. And then I saw him again. He had come back to the edge of the street, but he was not just passing by anymore. He was standing there watching me, smiling like he was greeting an old friend. Then he raised his hand and gave me this lazy little wave before he started walking toward me. Slowly. I did not wait to find out what he wanted. I ran straight to Ashley's house. She was the only person nearby who I knew was home, and I needed somebody. Anybody. I flew up the stone walkway with my heart pounding and hammered on her door like my life depended on it. Ashley opened the door, confused by the look on my face. I was already halfway across the threshold, yelling that I had been locked out and that he was coming, but she hesitated. She said she had to ask her mom, and then she shut the door. I was alone on the porch again. I turned around, completely panicked, trying to spot him, and he was dangerously close. He was not walking anymore. He was running, charging at full speed, crossing the street straight toward me. No more pretending. No more acting casual. Just a full-on sprint directly at me. I do not know whether Ashley saw him coming or whether she just realized something was seriously wrong. But just as I started pounding on the door again, she yanked it open and pulled me inside. We slammed it shut, locked it, and crouched down by the side window. He was already on the porch, inches from where I had been standing seconds earlier. He stood there staring at the door, breathing hard like someone who had just finished a sprint. Then he stepped back, shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, and calmly walked away like nothing had happened. They called the police, took statements, and I stayed at Ashley's house until my parents came back. Her dad walked me back to my house, and my mom nearly fell apart when she found out what had happened. It turned out my little brother had locked the door when they left without realizing I did not have a key. That night changed something in me. For a long time, I did not sleep well, and I never felt comfortable being alone in that house again. Story 18. I had only been a couple of weeks into my first semester of college when this happened, so everything still felt pretty new. Figuring out class schedules, getting lost around campus, meeting people. My school had a strange setup where some lectures were held off campus and satellite buildings about an hour away. There were shuttle buses that went back and forth to transport students and staff. Those rides were usually packed with half asleep college students trying to squeeze in a nap between classes. They were not the typical buses with rows of seats like in movies, though. The seats ran along the sides facing the center aisle, kind of like on a subway. That made it easier to get on and off, but it also meant you often sat very close to it. strangers, practically need a knee. That day I had just finished a long class at the satellite building and got on the bus early enough to get a seat to myself. A few minutes later a man in a suit got on. Somewhere in his late 30s or 40s, neat looking office type, and asked me whether the shuttle was headed back to the main campus. I said, "Yes." He thanked me and took the open seat right next to mine. Something unusual there since the seats filled up quickly and there were not many left. At some point during the ride I must have fallen asleep. That was not unusual either. Most people did on those hour long trips. When I woke up the bus was still moving, probably about 40 minutes into the ride. What was unusual was that I felt someone's hand wrapped around mine. It was him, the man in the suit. He was still leaning back with his eyes closed like he was asleep too. But his hand was definitely holding mine. At first I laughed to myself thinking maybe he had grabbed it by accident in his sleep. Awkward sure, but I did not want to wake him up or make a scene. So I started to gently pull my hand away. But the second I did, his fingers tightened hard. It was not a reflex of squeeze. It felt deliberate like he was holding on to me on purpose. That was when my mind started racing. I froze and told myself to just endure it. There were only about 15 minutes left until we got back to campus. I thought I could handle it for that long and then just get off the bus like nothing had happened. As soon as we stopped at the station I jumped to my feet and moved quickly toward the door. It had started drizzling so I opened my umbrella and hurried across the sidewalk, hoping he would stay behind or at least go in another direction. But of course I heard him jogging to catch up with me. He asked if he could walk with me under my umbrella. There were other people around with umbrellas but he picked me. I knew it was not random, even though I tried to convince myself that maybe he just did not want his suit to get wet. I was working way too hard to explain it away, even though my gut was already sounding the alarm. We started walking and almost immediately he asked how old I was. I told him 18. Then he launched into the strange monologue about how he was doing a master's degree in something extremely math-heavy, like statistics or advanced engineering or something along those lines. I do not remember the details, mostly because I was focused on keeping some distance between us without making it too obvious. Then came the moment when he asked for my number. I told him no as politely as I could and explained that I did not give my number to people I did not know. He smiled a little and said, "Oh, I do not want to text you or call you. I just want friendship." That is all. Just friendship. Which made absolutely no sense. Why would he want my number then? We were getting close to one of the bridges near the center of campus when something completely bizarre happened. Some skinny straight dogs were crossing the path and he suddenly grabbed me in a full-body hug and started screaming loudly and dramatically. I shoved him off me, completely thrown by his reaction. He apologized and said he was terrified of dogs, which only made the whole thing feel even stranger. I tried to end the interaction there by saying I had to go to another building. But before I could get away, he said his phone was not working and asked whether he could make an emergency call from mine. And of course, I fell for it. I handed him my phone, expecting a quick call. Instead, he dialed his own number. Then his phone started ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out, gave this little smirk and said, "Now I have your number." That was when I knew I had to tell someone. I went straight to campus security and they ended up connecting me with a very kind officer who took the situation seriously from the beginning. I filed a report and within a few days they issued a no-contact order and a ban preventing him from riding the shuttle buses. He did not even deny what happened. The detective later told me that in his statement he admitted everything. He said he thought I was okay with him holding my hand because I had not said anything. He even added something like, "Where I come from, it is common for older men to marry younger girls." That chilled me more than anything else. I think what stayed with me most was not just what happened, but how close I came to downplaying it. I almost convinced myself I was overreacting, but I am so glad I did not. That winter I came back to the city after spending some time away and it did not take long for me to be thrown right back into the chaos of public transportation. You know how it is. Trains packed shoulder to shoulder, unpredictable delays, and that constant hum of something not quite feeling right. I was used to it. Riding the train had always been a necessary evil for getting across the city, and I thought I had already seen enough that nothing could really shake me anymore. Until one Sunday night left me rattled for good. I had gone to a charity event in Upper Manhattan with my younger sister, and when it ended we took the train back to Queens. It was a little after 7 pm, so the car was not packed, but it was not empty either. We found two seats together and sat side by side, talking quietly while people got on and off at each stop. Then a guy got on. He was wearing a long grey coat, a knit cap, and looked to be in his 30s. He spotted me almost immediately, like he had picked me out from the other end of the car. He walked straight toward me and leaned in way too close, far too close, holding out his hand like we were old friends. "Hi, beautiful. How are you? What's your name?" He said with an exaggerated smile. I instinctively leaned back, trying not to overreact, but making it clear with my expression that I was not interested. I did not even answer. I just shook my head. And just like that, the fake friendliness dropped from his face. His expression twisted and he started yelling so loudly that everyone in the train car turned to look. "You think you're better than me? You're nothing. Stuck up. Butch. Go to hell." He kept going and going, getting louder and louder, throwing out random insults while I sat there frozen, and my sister squeezed my hand. Then in the most surreal shift, he completely changed his tone as if he had not just been screaming abuse at me. He looked at my sister and tried the same routine on her. "You're beautiful, too. Will you shake my hand?" And he actually tried to reach across me to touch her. That was it for me. I snapped. I slapped his hand away and told him to back off. His response was to smack my hand downward like I was some child. That was enough. I stood up, looked him straight in the face and said, "Do not touch her. Not one finger. I could feel the heat rising in my chest. We were standing at the same height, and he did not even blink. From there everything escalated. The yelling turned into shoving, and before I could fully react again, we were in a full-on fight. I do not remember every detail clearly, but I do remember landing a hit on his jaw that surprised even me. It only made him angrier. He lunged at me, threw me backward, and kicked me while screaming that he was going to kill me. Eventually other passengers stepped in. Two men pulled him off me and got between us. One of them yelled something at him, while the other tried to stop him from lunging at me again. The conductor announced over the intercom that the train was being held, and after a while those two men managed to force him out of the car and blocked the door. He tried to get back in, pounding on the glass and screaming like a madman. When the doors finally shut and the train pulled away, he was still yelling. His voice did not fade until we were deep into the tunnel. Someone in the train car pointed to the floor, and that was when I saw it. The guy had dropped his phone during the struggle. It was unlocked. Out of curiosity, and maybe a little adrenaline mixed with nosiness. I looked through it. I found his name, his social media, and a bunch of messages that made it clear he was not exactly stable. He also seemed to be involved in drug dealing. Hard drugs too, judging by the coded texts and the strange numbers. I ended up going to the police with my uncle and turning over everything I had. One officer was helpful, but another actually had the nerve to suggest that I might have stolen the phone and made the whole story up. I still do not understand how that was supposed to make any sense, but I gave them the man's full name and showed them what was on the phone. They said they would need a warrant to analyze it formally, and that nothing would happen unless I could positively identify him. Months went by. A detective showed up at my house once with a sheet of mug shots, but none of them looked exactly like him. and just like that, the trail went cold. They never called me back. I never got any updates. As far as I know, he is still riding those same trains, waiting for another girl to reject him. Story 20. Right after I turned 21, I finally managed to rent a small studio not too far from campus. It was nothing fancy, but it felt like a huge step up from crashing on couches and living with roommates who could go three weeks without washing a single dish. I was still in the middle of unpacking when everything happened. Boxes everywhere, almost no furniture except for a bed, a desk, and a lamp on the floor. That afternoon I had been going back and forth between the building entrance and my apartment, picking up packages and some mail from the shared mailbox area near the main entrance. It was one of those buildings where the doors lock automatically behind you when they close. At the time that felt safer, although I have thought a lot about that ever since. Anyway, I was on the phone with my boyfriend while getting the mail, and I brought it inside without ever stopping the conversation. I remember dropping the envelopes on the bed and kneeling down when I dropped my phone. It slipped out of my hand and disappeared under the bed, so I lay down on my stomach to reach for it. That was when I saw it at first just the outline of something. It was not moving, but it was definitely not shadows or clutter. My eyes adjusted a little, and with absolute disbelief, I realized there was someone curled up under my bed, lying on his side with his back to me. His head tucked toward his chest. He had not realized yet that I had seen him. I tried to stay calm and not give away that I had noticed anything. My mind was racing, trying to figure out how not to provoke him. I picked up my phone and without changing my tone told my boyfriend I was going to jump in the shower for a minute and would call him back afterward. Then I walked to the bathroom as naturally as I could. As soon as I closed the door I locked it, turned on the shower so the sound of running water could be heard, and climbed out through the little window above the bathtub. Thank God I lived on the first floor. Once I was outside I ran across the street and crouched behind a car where I could keep watch on both the bathroom window and the building's front door. It was still light out, summer light, late but still early enough, so I had a clear view. I called 911 and told them everything. Then called my boyfriend back and told him where I was. He arrived a few minutes before the police did. When the officers showed up I handed them my keys and pointed out my apartment, then came a few minutes that felt endless. After that two officers came out escorting a pale gaunt man who looked completely disconnected from reality. He was not aggressive and did not try to run. If anything he seemed dazed, one of the officers who stayed with me explained that they had found him standing silently just outside the bathroom door holding one of my kitchen knives with both hands. The man had slipped in while I was checking the mailbox and must have hidden as soon as he realized the apartment was occupied. They said he did not speak a single word the entire time they were inside the apartment. Later I found out he was a homeless man with untreated mental health issues. They took him to a psychiatric facility. That night my boyfriend insisted on staying over and by the following week he had already moved in with me full-time. To this day I cannot fall asleep unless I check under the bed at least once. Story 21. During my first year of college I was studying in a strange little town. One of those places that sits in between everything tucked deep into the northern mountains. On the surface it seemed peaceful especially in the fall when the trees lit up in reds and oranges. But underneath there was a roughness that was hard to ignore. You did not have to go very far into the woods before you started seeing signs of shady things. Burnt out trailers, strange smells, trash where it definitely should not have been. It was the kind of place where the air felt cleaner but the people looked more worn out and older than their actual age. That contrast stayed with me the entire time I lived there. A couple of months after the semester started one of my friends found an old railroad bridge hidden in the woods about five miles from campus. We had no idea how we found it. There were no trails leading straight to it. You had to more or less know what you were looking for. But once we found it, that place became our hideout. The bridge stood high above a river that almost always looked calm and the water below was deep enough to jump into from the structure. We would go there to hang out, drink, do stupid things and swim. I think all of us felt like we had discovered our own secret corner of the world. One afternoon after a rough week of classes I decided to go by myself. It was close to sunset and I figured I still had enough daylight left for a quick swim before walking back. I had made that trip so many times that I probably could have found my way in the dark but just in case I brought a flashlight. I left my stuff on the wooden planks and jumped into the water. At first it was freezing but once you got used to it it felt nice, still in quiet. I was messing around in the river, doing flips and floating. When out of the corner of my eye I noticed something moving along the bank. At first I could not see it clearly. It was like it kept skipping through my field of vision. One second standing still, the next somehow closer to the water. Like watching someone move forward and then blinking and suddenly they are five feet closer. Eventually I got a better look at it. It was tall, very thin and had dark hair pulled tightly back. What stuck with me most though was the way it looked at the water. It was not looking at me, it was looking at the water. As if it were something it did every day and did not need to think about. Then it dove in. No hesitation, no noise, it just entered the water and it started swimming straight toward me. Not lazily, not like someone trying to say hello or join me. Fast, unsettlingly fast. The distance between us disappeared in seconds and before I could react I felt its hand close around my ankle. It pulled me under so fast that I swallowed a mouthful of water before I could even scream. It let go for a second so I could come up for air then grab me again and kept pulling. The worst part was that it never set a word. I was trying to fight it off, kicking and thrashing wildly, but it was not slowing down at all. I realized it was dragging me toward the section where the current sped up. That part of the river narrowed and if you were not swimming hard against the pole it would drag you straight over the drop. By then I was in full panic out of breath, focused only on getting free. At some point I managed to twist myself loose and as the current carried me away I turned and saw it already heading back to the bank like nothing had happened. It did not even look back at me. It just turned away and left me for the current to take. I went over the edge. Maybe the drop does not sound that huge around 20 feet, but the force of the water crashing down was terrifying. It slammed me into the bottom and no matter how hard I kicked I could not find the surface. I thought that was the end of everything. Then I saw a huge log trap between rocks under the water and I grabbed onto it with everything I had left. Somehow I managed to push myself out of that churning mess. I floated until I could grab the bank and drag myself out. I had lost my phone and flashlight and I was completely soaked. Trying not to fall apart and trying not to think about what would happen if he was out there waiting for me. A year later a guy from the football team died after going over that same waterfall. The local paper blamed heavy rain and the strong current, but I have always wondered whether he had company in the water that day too. Story 22. When I was 19 I spent a semester in Peru as part of a language and cultural exchange program. It is one of those experiences that sounds amazing in hindsight, but in the moment it can feel overwhelming. Most days I did not blend in at all, not even a little. Wherever I went I stood out, light-skinned American accent, obviously not local. Most of the attention was harmless, just cat calls and comments I pretended not to hear. But there was one day on a bus that has stayed with me because it felt like there was something more to it. Something underneath the surface. I was heading to another part of the city, taking a route I was not very familiar with. I had maybe used it by myself once before. I got a seat by the window and kept looking outside, trying to keep to myself. After a little while an older man got on, maybe in his 60s. There were several empty seats, but he came straight to the one next to me. He was also white, which was unusual there, and he was wearing a baseball cap, like he was trying to give off a relaxed vibe. He sat down, leaned toward me, and immediately started speaking to me in English, asking if I was American. I said yes, and he made some comment about being from Lima but liking to learn languages. I did not really care, but I nodded and answered politely. At that time, I did not know how to end a conversation without feeling rude. When he asked where I was headed, I gave him the general name of the neighborhood, but left out the stop. I was already uncomfortable, even though I did not want to provoke anything. Then he said he read palms and asked whether I wanted a reading. I gave him a half-fake smile and held out my hand, hoping that would end the conversation. But right away, he said he did not do readings for free and suggested that in exchange. I could give him English lessons. I gave him a vague compliment. Something like saying his English was pretty good and tried to make it clear that I was not interested. That was when he grabbed my wrist, not violently but firmly enough that I could not pull away without making it obvious. He turned my palm upward, looked at it as if it were revealing some secret, and said something vague about there being something important, but that he would only explain it if I agreed to help him with his English. Then he asked for my number. I told him I did not have a Peruvian number yet, which was a lie. He offered to give me his instead, so I nodded like that sounded fine. He pulled out a little piece of paper and wrote it down. For the name he wrote "Cholo", which threw me off. The term has a specific meaning in Peru, often referring to people from the Highlands, and it can sometimes be used offensively. He did not fit that description at all, and I asked whether that was really his name. He brushed it off and told me to column that, that I did not need to know his real name. The whole thing was starting to feel like a slow-burning nightmare. Then came the part that made my stomach drop. He looked straight at me and said he did not believe I would actually column. He mentioned something about a woman from India, who had promised him the same thing and then did not follow through. And in a strangely calm tone he added that it would be a shame if the same thing happened to me that it happened to her. He did not explain what he meant. He just left it hanging there, like a threat without details. I tried to laugh it off. I said something like, of course I will call you. He did not buy it. He said I was not looking at him when I answered. And then out of nowhere he grabbed my face. He wrapped his hand around my jaw and turned my head toward him. It was not gentle. It was the kind of grip that made it clear who was in control. In that moment I forced a smile and repeated that I would column. Finally he let go. I still had a long way to go before my stop. Even so I said I needed to get off. I stood up to leave, but he stretched his arm across my legs and told me we had not reached it yet. He said it like a reminder, but he did not move his arm. I sat back down, my heart pounding. All I could think was, do not make a scene, do not make this worse. As soon as the bus got close to my neighborhood, I stood up again, this time quickly, and got off without looking back. He did not follow me. I do not know whether he stayed on the bus or whether he even saw me leave. I balled up the paper with his number on it as soon as I turned the corner. Part of me wished as I had taken it to the police or warned someone, but I was too shaken to think clearly. I never saw him again, and I still do not know what he meant about that woman.