I can barely imagine anything scarier than what these Redditors actually went through…read on at your own risk:
I had just moved into my first apartment and was in the process of moving in. The door that led into my apartment locks itself automatically when closed.
So, I was going to the entrance of the apartment complex to get my mail while talking on the phone with my boyfriend. I returned to my apartment and sat on the bed while opening the mail while using the phone, I dropped the phone on the floor and it landed under the bed so I had to lie on the floor and stretch for it. I saw something that caught my eye, there was someone under my bed…
My eyes widened and I choked the urge to scream. The person under my bed was lying still with his back towards me and his head to his chest, so I couldn’t see his face. And he didn’t see me, trying to be rational while so many thoughts rushed through my head, I picked up the phone, said “Sorry I dropped my phone, I’m just gonna take a shower and call you back.”
The bathroom is right by my bed so I hastily walked in, quietly locked the door, turned the shower on, jumped out my window (my apartment is on the first floor) and called the police. They told me to wait nearby, but to go to across the street and see if anyone comes out the door to the apartment complex. This was during summer and it was still light out, I placed myself across the street, hiding behind a car while watching my open bathroom window and the entry door. I called my boyfriend and he came to me just before the police. I gave them my keys and they went inside. Only moments later two cops came out holding a thin and tired looking man. His eyes looked crazy, but he didn’t try to get away. The policeman that had stood beside me and comforted me while the police searched through my house (I was a mess, shivering and crying) told me that the man stood outside my bathroom door with one of my kitchen knives waiting for me to come out.
This man had somehow crept in my entry door while I was getting my mail and hid under the bed.The man that was trying to hurt me turned out to be a homeless person and was placed in a mental hospital. My boyfriend moved in with me the very next day.
In 1975, my dad was 11 years old and living in Leeds with his mother and step father. And for some pocket-money he would do a paper-round every morning, extremely early. He left the house in the dark (being October) as usual and went to collect the papers, setting off to take his usual route through some playing-fields (essentially a public park, but not a very well kept one). But this morning was a particularly dark and gloomy one, and as he approached the cut-through he usually took, there seemed to be something off about it, so much so that it genuinely freaked him out just to be there. He decided to take his time and go the long-way around, just to avoid the park, and thought nothing of it for the rest of the morning.
When he got to school after his paper round, everyone was freaked out, and in quite a state. And upon asking his friends what was going on, they told him that a woman had been murdered with a hammer, and stabbed in the neck earlier that morning in the same playing fields that he decided not to go through, and on the same pathway too. Probably just a major coincidence, but a very lucky one at that, because the time he was on his round was the apparent time the crime was happening.
This turned out to be the first of 13 gruesome murders committed by the notorious Peter Sutcliffe (AKA The Yorkshire Ripper).
This story takes place in 1977. The cast of characters includes my mom, my dad, my brother, and of course, the serial killer.
My brother was little at the time, and had been at a friends house. I don’t remember what the occasion was, but my parents were picking him up. It was late at night, winter. My parents pick my brother up, load him into their car, and start driving home. As they are leaving the neighborhood to get to the main road, they see a man come out of the woods with a shotgun, and get into his van on the side of the road.
Now, the area I grew up in was suburban, but the folks can be rather redneck. Seeing someone come out of the woods with a shotgun is worrysome, but usually just means it was a poacher.
Dad just keeps driving. The man gets into his car and follows my parents onto the main road. Still nothing to be worried about. They make a few turns on the way home, and it becomes increasingly obvious that the van was following them.
They pull into the housing plan we lived in, which was mostly new construction. The van pulls into the plan behind them.
At the time, our house was the only finished, occupied house on our little cul-de-sac. The street lights hadn’t even been turned on yet. Pitch black. Winter. Cold. Isolated.
The van pulls into our driveway behind my dad.
Dad gets out of the car, sends mom and brother into the house and tells them to lock the door. He waits till they get inside, then he walks up to the van. Stands at the nose of the car, and just stares at the man inside. Waits. No questions, no bravado, no nothing. He just stands there and waits. Intimidatingly.
Now what you need to know about my father at that time. He had a full ride scholarship for football in college. Dropped out and decided that it would be “fun” to join the military and volunteer to go to Vietnam instead, because he was “bored”. Spent a year on some God forsaken little island at a ranger camp. He is an intimidating man, and always has been. Without being overly tall or large, he has a presence. You just don’t want to fuck with him. He is now much older and somewhat overweight. But in 1977 he must have been something, because without any words being exchanged, the man put his van into reverse and just… drove away.
The story doesn’t end there though. The next morning it was all over the news. A man had been murdered the night before, in the housing plan my parents picked my brother up from. Just a street away, a man had been shot through his living room window with a shotgun. Died on the floor while the wife tried to flee. Kids asleep upstairs.
The wife leads the man through the woods on a chase. They find her body a few hours later in the woods. The same area where my family saw the man come out.
Turns out, it was Edward Surratt, serial killer.
My dad used to tell me this story (although I didn’t know the grisly details until I was older) as one of those “listen to your gut” lessons. The setting is small town Indiana, early to mid 1970’s. My dad is middle school/early high school aged. His house was about 6 or 7 blocks from the school, so when the weather was nice he would walk home from school.
One day on his walk home, he noticed a guy in a van driving by him slowly. It was a bit strange, but he thought nothing of it. Then it happened again and again. Eventually the guy driving the van started yelling things at him, usually asking him to buy drugs. This is when my dad recognized the guy as Roger. Roger was about 9 years older than my dad but my dad was friends with one of Roger’s relatives so he knew who he was. Anyway, the cycle of Roger following my dad for blocks as he walked home and asking him to buy drugs continued for who knows how long. My dad always got this gut feeling that something was deeply off about Roger. He was so afraid that when Roger yelled he wouldn’t even respond, he just stared at the ground until he reached his house. The walks must have seemed like they took forever. My dad was one of those kids who seemed to grow a foot taller over one summer so he isn’t sure if Roger stopped because my dad became more physically intimidating or if he just moved on, but either way he was glad when the interactions stopped.
Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, 1977. In a different town, still small and remote, a woman is at home with her son and 3 stepsons. Roger and 3 other men break into her home with shotguns and force her and her boys to lie face down on the floor. Roger and the gang threaten and taunt them for hours before shooting them one by one. One of the shots partially blew off the wig that the mother was wearing. Roger thought her skull had blown off and, assuming she was dead, stopped shooting her. She survived, later describing hearing a horrible noise as she lie there, and then realizing that she was hearing the blood drain from her son and stepsons. She described it as “almost like a waterfall.”
Roger and gang got away with a whopping $40. But it was never about robbery, it was about the thrill of taking human lives. The mother eventually identified Roger and the 3 other men as the perpetrators, with Roger being the ringleader. Indiana didn’t have the death penalty at the time, so each man was sentenced to multiple life sentences. Roger recently died in prison.
I know that it’s unlikely that my dad would have been murdered by Roger had he gotten in the van or bought drugs from him, but the fact that he was so close so often to someone who was capable of doing something like that is unsettling.
Back in 1998 i was at second grade and was coming home from school alone for the first time. (i had a bit overprotective parents since i lived only about a block away from my school) I was stopped by an elderly woman who said she had something to tell me. She said she had no husband, had lost her son years ago and just wanted to give me a hug.
Something about this woman got me the creeps and now later on thinking she did act, talk and look really weird. Almost like she was a man dressed in old womens’ clothes. But this could be just my then juvenile imagination playing around. After asking me for a hug she reached her hands towards me in the motion of one waiting for a hug, i took off and ran as fast as i could, all the way home.
As i ran i think i heard her laughing really loud with a really low, manly tone. When i got home i told my mom about this, but she wasn’t worried at all and told me that she probably was only an old and lonely woman who just needed a hug. Here in Finland we have this magazine called ‘Alibi’ which has the most recent news about burglaries, thefts, murders, rapes etc. And for a reason an 8-year old like me was not allowed anywhere near that kind of a magazine.
But a few weeks after that incident with the old “woman” i did get my hands on one of those magazines, which was a brand new one. I read about an incident that happened in the area where i lived. It was about a boy, my age, last seen by his friends, hugging an old woman and walking somewhere with her just to be never seen again. The case is still unsolved today. I think i have escaped being kidnapped and/or murdered or something. I still remember this today, 15 years later and it still gives me the shivers.
When I was younger I lived on an estate of houses that backed onto a huge field where many people walked their dogs, it was even used as a cut through to the next neighborhood, which would take approx 25 minutes to walk though.
When I was about 13 my neighbor and I decided to camp out for the night in my back garden, which apart from a 6 foot wooden fence, was completely open to the field, albeit with 20 trees around the fence. Seeing as we were into action man figures at the time, we decided we would make the tent a hideout, so we got together some branches and one of those army nets to put over the tent to make it a bit stealthier, we also put the tent in the corner of the back garden which had a small roof over it, which made it very dark once the sun went down.
We did the usual thing, ate loads of crisps and sweets before we decided to try and get some sleep in our well hidden super dark tent. Around 4am I woke up to the sound of some one landing, and then walking on small stones, I then realized that below the fence my mum and dad had decorated with some gravel and flower pots, at first I thought it was our cat, but it was far too loud to be such a small animal, I slowly sat up trying not to make too much noise from my sleeping bag, then I heard it again.
I once again tried to make my way to the front of the tent silently, and looked through the zipper, about 10 feet away from us, there were 2 guys dressed all in black crouching under the window sill of the kitchen talking to each other, I immediately froze and had no idea what to do, they proceeded to creep closer to us, looking for more windows or maybe an entrance, because we were in the corner of the garden, we were quite close to the path that led down the side of our house where there was a door into the adjoined garage, I heard them talking quite clearly as now they were less than 5 feet away from me and my friend who was still asleep.
They were talking about being unseen and just taking whatever they could find in the garage instead of breaking into the House and disturbing anyone. I had no idea what to do, so I rang the house phone which was pretty loud and waited for some one to answer (took a while as it was very early) as soon as the phone rang the 2 people bolted to the fence and hopped over, My dad then answered and I whispered for him to get outside ASAP with a bat or something. Nothing happened in he end, but I am glad my friend slept silently!
This happened about 3 years ago when I was 18. My housemate and best friend at the time (we will call him R) was browsing Facebook when he came across a profile with his picture and a name that was not his. He noticed this fake profile had stated they were from our area (Australia), and was in a relationship with some girl from America (we’ll call her J).
So R decides to add J and tell her that he was the real person from the picture and that she was in an online relationship with a fake profile. J doesn’t quite believe R because the fake profile had more friends than R and somehow seemed more legitimate, so he offers to video chat with her to prove it.
They get on Skype with each other and she is shocked to find out she was being catfished by this fake profile. I was home at the time and R calls me over while he’s still on Skype. As soon as J sees me her face goes pale and she sends a link through to another fake profile with my picture. Apparently mine and R’s fakes were previously engaged with 2 children. Upon doing some further research we discovered some scary stuff.
We found about 20 more fake profiles, all of our close and extended group of friends. All of these profiles were active and were posting the exact same statuses as we all were. It was like a fake community of all our friends, they all interacted with each other and posted regularly, copying and pasting every single one of our statuses to post on their profiles. We thought this was really weird, but the most frightening part was that they knew exactly where we were at all times, even if we hadn’t posted about it. Me and R went to Dreamworld one day, hadn’t posted about it, hadn’t told anyone we were going, and there on our fake profiles was a status saying how much fun we were having, tagged at dreamworld. That was just one example of the several creepy statuses posted about our location. It was then that we realised that whoever this person was, was following us.
This continued for a few weeks. We tried calling the police but predictably, they couldn’t do anything. We tried in vain to contact Facebook and get the profiles deleted. We started to get scared and tried to work out who this person was, they had to have most of us as friends on Facebook because a lot of us were private, and they couldn’t have seen our statuses unless they were friends with us. No luck. We couldn’t work out who it was. We were terrified. This person was following us, and posting our whereabouts when we had told no one.
One day, it all just stopped. The profiles were gone. We never figured out who it was, and the whole thing remains unsolved. It was a really weird experience for both of us.
Alright so this isn’t paranormal, there are no demons or ghosts or women with oranges in this. It’s just a really weird thing going on with a weird kid in my weird apartment building that has continued to freak me out to a ridiculous point.
So, I live in this apartment complex in Pakrsville, British Columbia. It’s a small town on Vancouver Island. The building is fairly nice, mostly families and older people. I’m probably the youngest person living here on their own.
So each floor has four apartments. Mine is in the back of the building, on the second floor. As the title suggests, this has to do with my peephole. I noticed pretty early on that the peepholes in this building were crazy wide angle. Like, when you look through it, you can see pretty much the entire floor.
Call me paranoid, but anytime I go out to the kitchen to get a drink at night, I always look through the peephole. I always have anywhere I’ve lived with one. I dunno, I guess it makes me feel more aware of what’s going on — just in case there’s an evil ghost murderer with oranges waiting for me, I’ll have a heads up.
The people who live directly across from me is a middle aged guy and his wife. I’m not sure who lives next to me, but the apartment next to the middle aged guy is a woman and her little girl, I’m bad at judging ages, but I’d guess around 10 years old.
So one night I look through my peephole, and to my surprise, the little girl is standing outside of her door. just standing there with her back to it, in a night gown type thing.
I find it really weird considering it was about 2 AM, but there she was, just standing there.
I half considered opening the door and asking if she was okay, but then she opened the door and went back into her apartment.
After that I checked the peephole more frequently, and soon enough, a few days later the same thing. It was a little earlier, I think around 12:30, but she was just standing outside her door, plain as could be. She looked around a bit and then went back in.
The very next day, I look out my peephole, and she’s standing in front of my fucking door. Not like, up against it, she’s in the middle hall, but she’s FACING my door. It scared the shit out of me. So I’m just standing there watching this creepy little kid standing in front of my door at something like 2 in the morning.
Then she went back to her apartment.
She’s done this THREE more times now. Just standing there, facing my door, in the middle of the night.
What the fuck? I’m too chicken shit to speak out and ask her anything, but seriously. Why is this little girl staring at my door in the middle of the night…?
When we lived in California, we were not poor but we would be lost if a pay check did not come in. Because of this, we went to the laundry mat once a week. Remembering back on it, it seems like a place where you could film a B-rate slasher film, but that was not my concern. What had my attention was not the humming and buzzing of the washer machines and dryers or the unnatural white light from the fluorescent bulbs. It was the arcade corner. Once a month, my mom would give me a dollar and let me duke it with Metal Slug. After getting my butt handed to me by the forces of evil, I asked my mom if she had any extra quarters, which she replies with a “Do you think someone is going to give you free money?”
I angrily go back and just watch the flashing screens of Marco destroying everything. Shortly, a man shows up. I remember him clearly because he was wearing an old army BDU jacket and was well built but had eyeliner and hoop earrings. The whole time he had this menacing grin that almost rivaled that of the Joker’s. I avoided eye contact and repeated in my head, “Stranger, danger” several times. He then whispered to me, “Want another quarter?” At that moment my head turned to him and “Yes please!” came out before I could respond.
I starting destroying evil and when I would die he would put in another quarter. He put him hand on my shoulder and started massaging it. Before anything else escalated, my mother saw the man groping my shoulder, and immediately dragged me by the ear saying I forgot to take out the crayons from my pockets and they ruined a pair of jeans. I guess she didn’t want to cause a scene since we were the only people with Sergeant Drag.
I’ve never been a girl who has scared easily. I routinely watch crime shows, horror movies, etc. However, a night in March 2005 changed all that for me.
I was attending college for music in 2005 and had recently seen one of my favorite violinists. Inspired, I had asked a pianist friend to accompany me while I played a piece.
Looking back, it wasn’t smart on our part to go at night to the college’s music practice rooms, which are nearly soundproof and separated from the rest of the building. I figured since it was across the street from the campus police HQ, we must be OK. Was I ever wrong.
My friend and I are in a practice room for about 15 minutes when she looks at me and says, “Don’t freak out, but there’s a guy with a mask on behind you.”
Now, this is college. There are plenty of stupid people doing stupid stuff there. When I turned around, I realized this was something much more sinister. There crouched on the other side of the practice room’s glass door is a thin guy about 5’7″ or 5’8″ wearing a blond curly wig, the Groucho Marx glasses/nose combo thing, a hideous shirt (just a personal judgement) and the creepiest smile ever. That’s right, no pants or underwear … just his small penis out.
When I turn around, he waves and then enters this tiny practice room. My friend and I try to remain calm because we honestly don’t know what to do. Then this guy tries to strike up small talk with us and mentions he heard me talking about my favorite violinist. Apparently he’s been standing outside the practice room the entire time. He knows our names, where I had gone that day, where our hometown is, my guy problem at the time, etc.
As soon as possible my friend and I book it out of there. He was blocking the door most of the time so we were really scared. As we’re leaving he says, “Let’s do it again, (my name).”
Of course we go to the campus PD immediately and they think it’s all pretty funny.
The next day I’m sitting in choir when the dean comes in and says, “Hey, a friend of your cousin stopped by today. He said he wanted to give you some CDs of (my favorite violinist). He asked for the girl who plays violin with your first name so I assumed it was you.” I tell him what happened and he’s furious because the campus “security” didn’t do anything.
That’s when the stalking began. He soon was clever enough not to go by the music office again, but my dorm neighbors would tell me a guy was looking for me to give me some kind of gift. One time a stack of CDs from various violinists were sitting in my assigned seat for choir. Another time they were outside my door. All the while the campus security doing nothing. Some people even suggested I should enjoy the attention.
Things died down when I finally moved off campus and stopped all together when I moved away from the college town. Until two years ago when I moved back to the same town. The first week back, I received a direct message on twitter saying, “Glad you’re back in (city name). I’ve missed you. Let’s get together and listen to (violinist name).”
I reported it to the real police who haven’t caught the person to my knowledge. All they knew is the address came from somewhere other than my city. Part of me is still waiting for the knock on the door or a “present” left at my work or home.
Due to illness on both sides of my family, I have always lived with either my grandmother or her daughter (my aunt). There have been several times before my grandmother’s passing that my aunt had lived with us to take care of her and help around the house.
I must have been around 6 or 7, and my aunt was living with us along with her daughter who is 3 years older than me. I don’t fully remember the layout of the house but I know that I eventually ended up in a room that had to be walked through to get to the bathroom.
At the time my aunt had been in a pretty serious long term relationship with a guy who’s last name was Waters, and he’d come over pretty frequently. I remember him being well liked.
One night I believe I was playing a video game in our living room when I hear a lot of commotion coming from the stairs that led to the 2nd floor…
So, what had happened was that Waters was caught by my grandfather in my room. My grandmother was in the shower, and apparently Waters had pulled aside my dresser which was against a wall shared by the bathroom, and poked a hole through so that he could watch people while they were showering.
My grandfather caught him and literally threw him down the steps, and I never saw him again… but there’s no telling how long this was going on and who all he was watching.
My parents used to have a friend from high school who they have since told me they all thought was “a little strange”. We’ll call him Rick. My mom said that he was a really nice guy, not “red flag” weird, just a bit odd. They had vague knowledge of abuse in his family, but at that time abuse wasn’t something people really talked about, it was considered “personal family business” so I guess they just chalked his oddness up to childhood trauma or something. Their group of friends were all pretty close, enough so that it wasn’t weird when Rick would show up at our house just to hang out. My mom told me that sometimes if my dad wasn’t home when he stopped by, he would just hang out with her and little baby me until he got back.
The year they all graduated high school, a woman attending the university in our city went missing & about a month later her body was found. The police reported that the woman’s body had probably been there a couple of weeks by the time it was found. Her killer was never caught.
A few years later, when I was a month old, another female student of the university went missing. Our local police department still has her case open because she was never found. She was pronounced dead after being missing for about 10 years, at the request of her family. Around the time she had gone missing, I think there began to be some suspicions surrounding Rick within their social circle. No actual evidence that he may have been involved or anything, just more of a feeling they got that something was going on with him, and they just found it a bit eerie seeing as how it was at the same time this woman was missing. He had previously asked my dad if he could store a truck topper in their barn. my mom told me that she once went to look around out there, just to be sure (of what, she never really said. She wasn’t looking for anything specifically, but she just felt a need to inspect the area a bit. She didn’t find anything strange or out of place).
18 months after that, a third woman was abducted. After being taken to a house in a tiny town outside our city & chained to a bed, she was then taken to a bridge over the river, hands (and possibly feet?) still bound, and thrown in. She somehow swam to the riverbank and was able to call the police.
She identified her abductor to the police, along with the house she was taken to. It was Rick.
The police went to his house to arrest him, and as they were climbing the stairs, he shot and killed himself. During the investigation into the the two prior disappearances, they discovered that he had taken off a week of work during the times that each of the other two women had gone missing.
This took place when I was 11 or so, still in elementary school. This specific event took place after school one day toward the end of the school year. My bus stop was at the very end of my very big neighborhood, and it was a good 15 minutes of winding down several roads to get home. I would always walk with a group of older kids that lived near my house, but this particular day I got off the bus first so I was far ahead of them.
I was about 5 minutes into my walk when I noticed something. A man, about 30 or so, was walking behind me. I brushed it off as someone walking to the park or something. About two minutes later, I noticed he had gotten faster, which alarmed me, so I started walking faster. The faster I got, the faster he got..
I was almost on a long road that is the third to last road I go down to get home when I noticed the guy was still there. As I turn to look at him he starts sprinting at me. I turned and started running as fast as my short legs could. As he kept gaining ground I hear something. Foot steps. A group of them. That’s when I notice a group of highschool kids walking toward the corner I was headed for. I decided if I got to them it’d scare of the man, so I ran as fast as I possibly could.
As I got about 10 feet away the man stops running and basically throws himself into some bushes. I run up to the group of teenagers and explain to them what happened, and they looked around the general area for the man but he had flee’d.
They walked with me until I was a street away from home, and when they left I noticed a man walking down the street toward me. It wasn’t until he was about 20-30 feet away that I recognized him as the same man from earlier. By that time, the group of teenagers was long gone, leaving me on my own again.
As he got in touching distance, I bolted. I ran as fast as I could toward my house when I noticed he had started running after me, with some grin I could only describe as evil. I reached my house and ran to the front door, hoping it was unlocked so I wouldn’t have to get the spare key from the pot next to the door. As I get to the door, I noticed my dad’s car coming down the road. I guess the man noticed too, because he immediately ran past me and my house as if he were on a run.
I stood there shaking and crying until my dad pulled up, and promptly explained what happened. To this day, despite being in highschool, I’m still not allowed to walk home. I still remember what the man looked like that day. His clothes, his grin, his facial hair. It haunts me.
A few years ago, I went to London, England to attend college. During the time that I stayed there, I had made friends, gotten a job as a bartender, and you know, the works. Just a typical college student.
One day, one of my co workers, and dear friend, Gina, decides to have a few people at her place after work. Her house was within walking distance of the bar we worked in, so we all decided to make a night out of it.
At around 2am or so, I thought it was about time to go home. And let me make it clear that I was not drunk. I was, however, exhausted, since I had been working a 12 hour shift.
I called the cab company that I normally call and requested a cab pick me up at the bar, and drive me back to my dorm. No problem, they’ll be here in about 5-10 minutes.
I walk to the bar, and wait in front for the cab to show up. The cab pulls up in front of me, and calls over “You waiting for the cab?” “Yes, thank you!” and I hop in.
My dorm is maybe a 5-7 minute drive away. No big deal. Would only cost me around 5 pounds to get back. The whole way home, though, this cab driver is putting his hands all over me. I usually joke around with cab drivers so as to avoid an awkward car drive, and it’s always harmless. But anytime I laughed, and lifted my hands, he would try to hold my hand. Every so often, he would try to put his hand on my thigh, in which I would remove it, and move slightly more towards the door.
At that moment, I get a phone call. “Hello?” “Hi, this is Tony, I’m here to pick you up.”
Around that time, there seemed to be, what it looked like at least, a big issue with unmarked cabs picking up young women, raping them, and leaving them. There were commercials about it, there were ads about it at bus stops. Needless to say, it was definitely something to be looked out for.
So when I got that phone call, my. Heart. Dropped. “…I’ve already been picked up…” I looked at the driver, and the whole time, the driver is asking me to “give me the phone, let me talk to him, give me the phone, let me talk to him, give me the phone, let me talk to him”
Luckily, the REAL cab driver on the phone was very kind, and told me to listen to him carefully. If he takes me anywhere, to call him, I have his number now. What he was was an unmarked cab. Recently, I guess, some people were able to obtain fake marks for their cab or something like that (bear with me, this was quite a while ago), to make it appear like it was actually a marked cab. Either way, this guy was an unmarked cab, and he had just stolen someone’s cab fare.
I ended up being dropped off at my dorm. The driver asked me “how much do they usually charge?” I said “2 pounds.” He drove off without so much as a goodbye, never to be heard from again.