"About four or five years ago, I worked at a Little Caesars Pizza. Usually, I would work inside on the pizzas, but we had just started up this Monday Madness deal where pizzas were only $4, so we needed someone to advertise. I was a wild and weird metalhead, so I took up the position on Mondays of just going out there, throwing around a sign to get attention and bring people in for pizza. Not exactly glamorous but I had fun.
One day, while I was out there doing my thing, I see a van coming straight at me. It jumps the curb and slams into me, and I feel it crush me against the electrical box controlling the street lights. I see a quick flash as the traffic lights flick off before I black out.
I gasp and I'm still on the corner, and nothing has happened. No van or anything. Well, I was a little shaken up, so I decided to pack it up and walk back to the store for a break. I walk no more than 15 feet away from the corner when I hear a crash. I look back and a van just hopped the curb into the electrical box and I watch the traffic lights flick off.
Needless to say, I took the day off. Still, I think about that from time to time."
"A Vietnam veteran came to speak to my English class and told us this story: So it was during one of the town raids where everybody is shooting everything. He walked into a bar, and behind the bar, he saw two women, who he went over to try and help. He heard a crunching noise behind him, turned around, and a third woman, with a weapon, shot him in the chest. He said he remembered hearing another shot as he was falling over. So he goes to a hospital, gets all fixed up, and comes back home.
Eighteen years later, he's in line buying coffee, and he hears a woman in front of him speaking Vietnamese. He could also speak Vietnamese, so he understood her, and he responded to one of her comments with some snarky pun. She turns around, and it's the same woman that shot him in the bar, with one of her friends who was also there. He insisted on buying her coffee, and as they sat together, he asked why she did it. She said, 'I was being hunted on both sides, everyone wanted to kill me, so I just shot. Didn't matter who it was.' They talked more and discovered that the shot he heard was his friend who tried to save him by shooting her. She was in the exact same hospital as him, but one level up, and then she moved to the same suburb he lived in America. He was crying by the end."
"When I was in the 11th grade, my math teacher went off on a tangent about everything happening for a reason and why it is always important to be kind. At first, I was only half listening, then things got interesting.
When he was a senior in college, he decided that in his last days he would go around to students sitting alone in the cafeteria and strike up a conversation. He approached a girl sitting alone and asked if he could have lunch with her. She seemed hesitant at first but then agreed. They struck up a conversation and ended up talking for a while. She eventually asked him, in a startled way, why he came and sat with her. He explained to her that it had become his goal to sit with people he didn't know. She told him that this wasn't the first time someone had randomly asked her to have lunch with them. Apparently, when she was in high school, she was shy and unpopular and usually spent her lunch breaks in the library. Towards the end of the year, a group of popular girls asked her to have lunch with them. She was shocked and said no at first, but they persisted, and she eventually agreed. They got in one of the girl's cars and drove off school property headed to a restaurant. As they were driving down the road dozens of cop cars whizzed past them.
She went to Columbine High School. It was April 20, 1999. She escaped being in the library, where the majority of the shootings took place because a group of girls decided to reach out to her."
"This is a story about my dad:
One day when he was young, he was playing outside near a small river with a friend. He lived in southern Wisconsin, so it was cold. While playing, they notice something strange in the water; it's a capsized canoe, with two guys who were probably fishing, hanging on for dear life in the water. He says they had already turned blue and could barely talk. So the two kids get the men out of there and save their lives. It's a big thing in their town, there's a story about it in the local paper and everything. Everyone is happy.
Fast forward five years.
My dad is on his way to a concert in Chicago with one of his buddies (the same kid as above) in his new car. Of course, they were young and stupid, and it was the '70s, so who wears a seatbelt, right? As they were driving past some bar, where there was some big party going on, a mobile home comes flying out of the parking lot out into the street. The driver obviously didn't look at all and was probably hammered. My dad crashes his car head-on into this trailer and totals his car. The fact that they weren't wearing seatbelts saved their lives; the bottom half of the car was crushed. Luckily nothing happens to him or his friend. Not a scratch, only shock. Just as they get out of the car and try and catch their breath, the propane tank on the trailer explodes, and the whole thing catches on fire. Stumbling out of the trailer come two guys in flames, screaming/moaning, skin bubbling; they die right there on the spot in front of everyone (people from the bar had gathered round). Turns out these two guys were the exact fishermen he and his friend saved five years ago."
"When I was a boy scout, I got my filmmaking merit badge while at winter camp. In order to earn it, you have to complete a short film (no matter how terrible). Since we were all in the woods, we decided a slasher flick would be a lot of fun. We wrote a script about a masked killer who goes around stabbing people at a boy scout camp.
There was a kid named Paul in the group that was pretty cool. Paul was one of those guy's that is just naturally likable, but we unanimously voted to make him play the killer because he had this really creepy Peter Lorre eye thing going on. He did great, fake-stabbing a bunch of victims and being menacing enough for a movie produced by kids.
We edited the thing (buckets of fake blood, bad acting and all), and I forgot about it completely until six years later when I was a freshman at college and recognized Paul walking between buildings. I jogged over, we made small talk about each other's spring break plans (since it was a week away), and that was that. Not like we'd kept in touch or anything.
Fast-forward a week, and I'm back home watching the news when I see a report about a young man who's killed his mother, father, and two family dogs, and then lit their house on fire. The police already had a suspect in custody, so the newscast flashed his picture and sure enough, it's Paul.
He stabbed them to death, just like our movie."
"I was 16 or 17 years old, and it was very common for my friends and me to go camping in the mountains. I was always a big fraidy cat when it came to getting messed up, so I usually abstained. I took my parent's warnings to heart I guess.
This particular night, most of my friends were wasted, while I was sipping an adult beverage, enjoying the fire and whatnot. At some point, a bunch of us girls decided to go off somewhere to pee. We were still pretty young and quite squeamish about the boys seeing us squat.
We stumble off into the woods and end up walking for quite some time, one girl was searching for the perfect spot, and she was wasted, but we all just went along. We finally come to a small clearing and decide to pee there. Everyone pees and we set off back towards camp.
One of my friends hears a low moan coming from the other side of the clearing. She tells us to shhh, but we don't hear it, so we urge her to come on. She is intent on investigating, so I decided to go with her. It was really dark out. You could only see as far as the lanterns light hit, so we were off into the unknown.
Our light finally revealed a car. A brand new Subaru. It freaked us out, so we scampered back to our friends screeching like little girls and set off back to our camp all freaked out.
We told the boys about it when we get there, and they convinced us that we had happened upon another campsite, and made fun of us for freaking out.
Five years later, I am in nursing school and working as an administrator in a labor and delivery hospital. I have made a friend at work and she and I hang out all the time. One night, she comes over and we are drinking, and she tells me her dad has been missing since she was in high school. She says he had tried to commit suicide a few times and her family figured that he succeeded, but no one ever found him. She secretly was hoping he just ran off to start a new life and maybe she would see him again someday.
Not very long after that, a man was found in a stolen Subaru up on the mountain where we used to camp, he had been there for years, through every season, freezing to hot, there was a hose from the tailpipe to the window. The man had committed suicide.
It made the news, and one of the guys from high school called and reminded me of that night in the woods, the car was found not far from our usual spot, wasn't that nuts?
That was what my friend and I saw.
At work, my friend got a call from her mother. The guy in the car was her dad.
We heard him moaning. We saw the car. If we weren't such dumb kids, we could have done something. I watched my friend fall apart over it but didn't tell her about my experience in the woods. I have always felt so bad."
"A friend of mine was a bike messenger in Chicago. He was rowdy even for that line of work (known to kick cars that cut him off and the like). He apparently got into a confrontation with someone in an SUV about ten years ago. The driver literally runs him down and plows right over him. The guy drove off, and nobody managed to get the license plate number or a good description of the vehicle or the driver. The EMTs roll my dead friend over, and he's cradling the guy's front plate in both arms like a football."
"When I was four years old, and my sister was almost one, my mother was driving us from Las Vegas to Wichita to see our grandparents shortly after she and my father got divorced. At one gas station on the way, a man came up to the car and told my mother 'I hate to see a single mother traveling alone and I noticed we are headed in the same direction, do you want me to follow you for awhile to make sure you are safe?' She politely said no thanks and drove off. At our next stop for gas, he again came up under the guise of 'checking' on us; he had been following us since the last stop. While he was talking to my mother, his sports coat blew open, and I saw a weapon tucked in his pants. After she again told the man we were fine, she left, and I told her what I saw. While she was driving, she wrote a note to give to the next gas station attendant saying who we were, where we were planning on spending the night, and that this creepy dude was following us and what he looked like. Could you please call the law in (I don't remember what town it was) and have them waiting at the hotel?
When we got to the next stop, my mom raced in and handed the clerk the note and sped off with us. We got to the hotel, and the manager had the cops waiting in one room and gave us another room with a pizza and soda. The man showed up and asked if his 'wife and kids' had checked in yet and what room were they in. The manager gave him the key to the one with the police in it. They questioned him and found out he was a convicted assaulter, and also had a warrant out, so he was arrested."
"Two years ago, I almost died in a car wreck. I was driving home late at night, fell asleep behind the wheel, and slammed into a tree on the front driver side door. I have no memory of what happened the next couple days, but I woke up in the ICU strapped to a bed with a respirator and feeding tube. I had broken bones in my skull, my collarbone, collapsed both lungs, and ruptured my diaphragm. Every doctor I have seen since then looks at me in shock and tells me I shouldn't be here. The chilling part of the story is how I was found.
Some neighbors of mine were driving home late from dropping their daughter off at a bus that she was taking to camp, where she was a counselor. The bus left late. It was delayed because another couple counselors were an hour and a half late. One of them was my best friend from elementary school. After they finally dropped their daughter off, they headed home and were driving down a secluded road near our neighborhood. The wife saw a car parked on the wrong side of the road, but couldn't see that there was any damage because it was dark and on the opposite side of the car. They kept driving until she thought she heard honking and convinced her husband to turn around. I was unconscious. The car was dead and the horn was found to not be working later. They didn't know it was me until two days later. They saved my life."
"This happened when I was 19 years old. It was sometime during the summer, probably in June. I was staying with my best friend (she lived with her grandparents), and at about 11 p.m. we decided we would drive down to see some friends in Tulsa, which is about four hours away from where we were (Kansas City). Nevermind the fact that we would be arriving around 3 a.m. It was the weekend, so no doubt our friends would be up partying at that time. So we got some snacks and hit the road. Now, we had driven to Tulsa many times over the years, but the only route we knew was Route 69, which is this little two-lane highway. We would have preferred to take the interstate since it was nighttime - we'd only ever made the drive during the day, but we couldn't find a map. Her grandparents didn't have internet access, so we had to take the route we knew.
Route 69 between Kansas City and Tulsa basically goes through the middle of NOWHERE. The entire drive you're passing through cornfields or woods. There are no lights, but your headlights at night, and no cell phone service the entire way. Basically, we were banking on a smooth journey the whole way or we'd be totally effed. We had no idea when we left just how bad things could potentially turn out.
We were having a great time, listening to the radio, eating our snacks, windows down. We were about halfway there when things started to get weird. We were in the middle of nowhere with no cell service, and we were approaching the point of no return - we had just enough gas to either get us there or back home, so we had to either go the whole way or turn around. At this point, there were also woods on either side of us, starting just a few yards from the road on each side.
Then the weirdness began. We noticed some blood on the road in the other lane. No big deal, we figured someone hit a deer, which is common in that area. But as we kept driving, there was more blood and more blood and more blood. Over the course of 10 miles or so, the amount of blood on the road grew from a small splattering to a massive pool, covering about three car lengths, running off into the woods. This is when we start to realize that something isn't right. Not only was it a large amount of blood, more than there could be just from hitting a deer, but that's all there was. Just blood. There were no animal parts of any kind, not even random chunks of fur. No broken glass or other car wreckage. Nothing. Just a MASSIVE amount of blood on the road. We also realized that we hadn't passed a single car the entire time, and considering that the blood was on the other side of the road, if someone HAD hit an animal and their car was still driveable, it would have passed us a while back. Not only THAT but the blood was fresh. Whatever happened had happened within the last couple of hours at the most.
Naturally, we were starting to freak out. Neither one of us is the type to panic or assume the worst, but we had seen a LOT of horror movies. Something just felt really off even before we realized there was something beyond roadkill happening, we both got a gut feeling that something was wrong. We had pretty much reached the point of no return - we had to decide whether to turn around and go home or keep driving, and we had to decide quickly.
That decision was made for us. Suddenly, we arrived at a roadblock. I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting it. Things felt even weirder. For one thing, there were no signs warning that the road was going to be closed. Second, they barely looked authentic. They were old - the white-and-orange-striped sawhorse kind - and the wood was rotting. You could hardly make out the letters in the words 'Road Closed.' And finally, there wasn't any sort of detour.
Or so we thought. After sitting there for a minute, trying to make any sense of what was going on, nearing a state of panic, we realized that there was a detour. Off to the side of the road, there was a small, homemade, crooked-edged sign with the word 'DETORE' (yes, spelled that way) painted on it in dripping, red letters. The sign pointed to a narrow, overgrown, obviously rarely-used dirt road that led off into the pitch-black woods, and as far as we could see, it led AWAY from the direction of the highway.
This was when we decided that we were getting out of there. And I don't know what possessed us to do this, but we decided to switch drivers. We both got out of the car and ran to switch, and as we got back into the car, we definitely heard some voices and movement in the woods, very close to the edge on both sides of the road. My friend was now driving, and she took off as fast as my car could go. We didn't look back, we just kept driving until we were back to civilization.
To this day, we have no idea what really happened in the woods that night. When we got back to her grandparent's house, we just snuck in and eventually went to sleep. Thank god whoever/whatever was out there wasn't a little better at whatever they were doing because I really feel like we narrowly escaped getting Texas chainsaw massacred out there."
"My grandfather's second wife was a sleepwalker, the kind that would get out of bed and make a sandwich in the kitchen. My grandfather became used to it, and whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, and she wasn't in bed beside him, he would find her and gently lead her back to bed without waking her up, just as he had been advised.
But one night he wakes up and she isn't lying in bed, but instead sitting on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him. He calls her name to ask what's wrong, but she doesn't answer, and he realizes she must be asleep. He can tell that she's doing something, holding something in her lap, but he can't see what it is.
He sits up, looks over her shoulder, and sees what she's doing, still in her sleep: loading his weapon."
"In her early-20s, my mom ran a photography studio in a mall in Scarborough, Ontario. One day, my mom is working alone, and this guy comes in asking for a photo. He's a little weird about it, saying he needs a picture taken of his hip. They took a lot of injury photos for court cases, so my mom assumed this was what he needed, and loads the camera. When she looks up, he's got his pants off and he's exposing himself. My mom starts laughing hysterically and tells him to get out; she doesn't have time for this nonsense. About an hour later, a girl that was working at the denim store down the hall comes down to tell her about this pervert that took off his pants in the middle of the store, trying to expose himself to the female customers. They both have a laugh; he didn't seem all that menacing, just (obviously) not all there. Two days later, the girl comes running into my mom's studio, pale as a ghost. On the front page of the paper is a sketch of the guy, with the title 'Scarborough Attacker.' It's pretty crazy to think that she was that close to getting attacked by a serial attacker in the peak of his crime spree."
"I work as a nurse. While training, a group of my friends and I were having a discussion as to whether there is some sort of an afterlife. My instructor looked at me and said, 'Well, I used to be like you, but I have seen some strange things in the hospital that made me change my mind.' She proceeded to tell us a story about a friend of hers (who was a nurse) whose daughter had terminal cancer. The daughter was in her late-20s early-30s. She had a husband and two small children.
This was a devastating situation, and she was about to pass any day. She knew this and kept telling her friends and family how afraid she was of dying. Even though she would be surrounded by her family in her last hours, she knew that she would die alone. Her parents were taking turns spending the night with her in the hospital room along with her husband. It was her father's turn to go home for the evening and take care of the grandkids. She ended up dying that night and her last words were, 'I'm not afraid anymore. Dad is here with me.' As nurses and other health professionals can attest, people have some strange last words that may or may not mean anything. After the body had been processed and taken to the morgue, the mother went home and found her husband, dead, on the couch. She anticipated having one funeral, and she now had to plan for two. It was really creepy."
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