10 Nightmarish TRUE Scary Stories | Home Alone, Stalker, Creepy Encounters - Ripshy.

foreign to start this off by saying that I don't condone any of the behavior of what my friends and I did on this particular night. I'm well aware that this whole thing could have been avoided had my friends and I not been such dumbasses. I made a huge mistake as well. It was mid-summer, like the second week of August, to be exact. My parents were gone for the weekend for some wedding out of town, and I had the house to myself. As a 17-year-old, I was pretty happy about being alone for the weekend. My

parents trusted me too because I wasn't really the type of kid to get into trouble. Really, I mean, I had a few screw-ups here and there at school, but nothing major. I didn't smoke or drink at all, and neither did most of my friends, but this night was different. It all started out as a normal night of me playing on my Xbox with my friends when one of them mentioned that we should sneak out. I wasn't necessarily opposed to this idea, but I wasn't really fond of it, nor was I that interested. Didn't sound like

much fun to me. What are we going to do anyway? Walk around outside? Then what? You know, that's when Elias mentioned we should do something a little crazy. There was this house down the street that was abandoned—or so we thought at the time. We weren't 100 percent sure; some weird girl that used to ride our bus for years lived there, but she must have moved out because one day she stopped getting on the bus. After a few months, this house looked like a ghost town. The grass was really overgrown, and you could tell the property

wasn't being maintained at all. Elias convinced me to go, so I told him I was down, and I asked him what our plan was. He told me, "We'll figure it out when we get there." The house sits on the corner of two intersecting back roads in the country. It's a two-story white house with a big garage behind it. We rode our bikes there because it was kind of far to walk. When we got there, we immediately hit our bikes and ran up to the back door, but of course, it was locked. He then tried the

front door as well, but it was also locked. We ran back to the back door, and we were going to try to kick it down or break the handle with a sledgehammer that we found sitting on the side of the property. Elias started hitting the door handle, and after like five or six swings, he finally cracked it. We opened the door and slowly stepped inside. All we had was the flashlights on our phones to see; it was pitch black in there, and the house was an absolute mess—everything scattered all around the floor, and it was

nasty, definitely not cleaned by any standards at all. As soon as we walked in, we noticed a door that was adjacent to the one we walked in from. It led to the downstairs area. I took a peek down there. "Holy dude, this place looks like something straight out of a horror movie," that gave me the creeps. I wasn't feeling ballsy enough to check it out down there yet—not until we at least checked out the rest of the house. Anyways, we scavenged our way through the house, and we didn't find much—just a bunch of clutter and

junk scattered around. He then walked upstairs and checked out all the rooms. "All right, bro, we might as well just leave," I said. "Wait, did you hear that?" Elias asked. "What? Did I hear what?" "Listen, dumbass!" Frozen in fear, I heard what he was talking about. "Dude, there's somebody in here!" "Shut the up, Devin!" Elias said. "Jesus, man! You're gonna get us caught, idiot!" We sat and listened for a little while as the noise continued. It sounded like somebody was rummaging through a bunch of boxes or drawers or something. Then what we feared most was

coming true: we heard steps heading towards the stairs. "Bro, let's go," I said. He ran to one of the rooms, and a lot of us hid in the closet. But I, on the other hand, started to open the window. I was making a lot of noise, but I didn't really care; my only focus was getting the hell out of the house. "Hey dude, what are you doing? Don't freaking leave!" "What the heck? Come on, bro!" I said. "We gotta go!" That's when I jumped out the window onto the windowsill, and I dropped down as carefully

as possible. I hurt my leg pretty bad, but I landed better than I expected I would. Elias started yelling and told me to wait for him, so I did. "Hurry up man, you don't have much time!" I said. That was when I ran behind a tree to try and camouflage myself. After that, Elias made a leap, and he didn't land as well as I did. He ended up hurting himself worse. Luckily, he was still able to limp a little on his own. He made his way over to the tree, and he sat down to catch

his breath. "Bro, we seriously have to go," I said. "Are you okay, by the way?" He just looked at me with an obvious look that I read as, "No." He obviously wasn't okay. Suddenly, we heard some people talking next door. Thankfully, it was the neighbors. He started walking that way. Keep in mind this was the country, and the houses were pretty far apart. We realized we couldn't look through them for help, though, considering we technically just... Committed a crime. I think we felt a form of comfort, though, realizing there were other people out there. If

it came down to a life-or-death situation, he walked a ways further from the vacant house and found a better hiding spot to hang tight at while we got Elias's ankle situated. After a few minutes, we started to hear a bunch of loud noises and people yelling from the house that we had just broken into. It must have been four or five people in there, then bam! Out of nowhere, there were like 10 to 15 rounds let off of what sounded like an AR-15 or something crazy like that. I started to freak the hell out, and

we ended up running away as fast as we could. With Elias's ankle being the way it was, we had to take a long walk back home. I'm talking about a three-and-a-half-mile detour. Practically the whole way home, I had to carry my half-mobile friend, who could barely even limp anymore without my help. It took us a good couple of hours to get home, and we heard more gunshots from those crazy rednecks. I don't know what would have happened if we had run into them. I don't know if they were squatters or if they owned the house

or what the hell was going on with them, but a few months later, we heard on the news that someone was shot and killed in that house. They never caught the guys who did it, though, and ever since I can't help but wonder what happened. We never got a good look at the people either, but I know that they knew we were there. We tried to come back for our bikes a few nights later, but they were gone, so they must have taken them. It's crazy to think that someone died in that house, literally murdered

while we were there. That easily could have been us; if we had been found in there, we would have been killed for being witnesses, I'm sure of it. I, a female, 23, was recently in Africa on vacation with my family, and we stayed two nights at a desert camp in the Sahara. The first night, my sister and I were talking about hanging out with the guys who worked there, who were all probably around ages 20 to 35. They seemed like they were just very friendly and harmless. I noticed at the campfire that night that one

of the guys started paying more attention to me, and I felt a little uncomfortable by it, but I figured it was just a language barrier or something. So, out in the desert, you can see the stars really well and even the Milky Way on clear nights, but you have to wait for the moon to go down, which is around 2 a.m. I guess it's a normal thing for the guys to come around to the tents, which are luxury tents furnished with beds, lights, a toilet, and shower as well. There's a lock on the doors, so

not normal camping. I guess it was normal for them to come and knock on the door to see if we were awake and wanted to come look at the stars. My sister and I were sharing a tent, and my parents were in a separate one across the walkway. The first night, around midnight, I told my sister I was too tired to go out because I was falling asleep. So she left to look at the stars without me, and I didn't lock the door because I didn't want her to get locked out if I fell asleep.

Fast forward about an hour, and I'm on my side asleep when I wake up suddenly to see a head peeking in from the tent door. I thought it was my sister, so I groggily asked her, "What the hell are you doing?" because it was just weird the way she was standing there. I started to wake up more, and I realized that it's this guy from the campfire, and his head was peeking in my room while I was asleep. Now, I know it could have been a simple misunderstanding, but I felt totally violated with my privacy,

especially because we were on their territory in the middle of the desert. Like, I'm not kidding, we had to take a 30-minute truck ride into the dunes. I was in fight or flight at that moment. You literally woke me up with a panic attack, and I started to feel extremely nervous and on edge. So I went to the door, and I told him I was tired. He kept trying to get me to come out to the dunes with a blanket, but I just kept saying no, that I didn't feel good and that I was tired,

which was true. At this moment, I don't know where my sister is, and I don't know where my family is. I'm disoriented, and all I know is that this man is standing in front of me and was literally just watching me sleep. I don't know how long he was there for; it could have been a literal second or it could have been two minutes, but either way, I was high-key horrified. I told him no again, and I said that I would go look at the stars tomorrow night. He told me that he wouldn't be at

the camp the next night, and that's why he wanted to go out tonight, but I wouldn't budge. Once he realized I wasn't going to come outside, he asked me if he could have my number, and I told him no, that I had a boyfriend. I don't actually have a boyfriend, but it seemed like the only way this man would respect my disinterest was by knowing there was another man in my life. The picture after I said that, he asked me for my first name, and I gave it to him because I thought it wouldn't do

any harm. Then I said good night and locked the door. This time, I went right to the bathroom, and I had diarrhea—not important; I just wanted to show that he scared the literal crap out of me. While I was on the toilet, I heard him come back and start calling my name from outside the tent, but I just stayed quiet and didn't say anything. I finished in the bathroom, and I lay down in my bed, still trying to calm down from what just happened because my heart was racing. I heard him come back again calling

my name. I lay in bed as still as I could and didn't say anything. I tried texting my dad, but he wasn't answering, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving the tent. Finally, my sister came back, and my dad was with her, so I told him what just happened. They were confused and thought it was weird, and that was kind of it. The next day, I brought it up at breakfast again, and my sister and dad basically told me I was being dramatic and that I should just stop talking about it already, that it wasn't that

big of a deal. My mom was the only one who agreed with me that it was weird. The second night, my sister and I were both out under the stars, talking to the guys and relaxing. Keep in mind it's very dark, and you can't see any faces, so I was having a normal conversation with this one guy. I couldn't see him, but all was well. After a while, he asked me if I remembered him, and I was like, "Well, no, I can't see you." "Oh, shine a light," he said. So I did, and wouldn't you

guess, it's the same dude from my tent last night! I especially wasn't expecting him to be the dude in front of me because he had just told me he wouldn't be there that night, which leads me to believe he picked up a shift just to see me. But I can't be too sure—either that, or he was lying about not being there the next night in an attempt to get me out there with him. But surprisingly, he was fine that night and respected my boundaries, so I didn't say anything to the guys who ran the camp.

However, I was planning on doing so if he did anything remotely that made me uncomfortable, but he didn't. The next morning, we left the area, and a few days later, I started getting message requests on Instagram. Would you believe that this guy found me? I tagged the entire desert in the pictures I posted! Like, you're telling me he found me based on my name in a location—not even a specific location, an entire desert! My name isn't unique either. Anyway, he messages me, and although I'm creeped out, I'm also thinking, "Okay, well now he's harmless; I

might as well see what he says." He says, "Direct quote: You know, I'm really happy to find your account; I was looking for a long time," which I found highly creepy to even say to someone. But again, it could just be a cultural difference; who knows? I didn't answer him, and he messaged me again a few days later saying, "Hey, how are you?" But I didn't answer. So, yeah, I guess I'm just curious what you guys think about this and if I was really overreacting or if you think my literal gut feeling was right. He

seemed to be harmless in the end, but you never know. This whole situation started when I was a teenager. I am now in my late 20s and I'm a woman. It was one small conversation that I had completely forgotten about until two years ago, but in the past two-ish years, more things have happened that made me really think about that short conversation. I was about 13 when my mom and I just moved back in with my grandma, where my uncle was already living at the time. His friend was living with us as well, staying for

only a few months. I never knew why; I just knew he was staying there. One day, while the friend was out of the house, my uncle sat me down and told me he didn't want me to be alone with his friend and that I needed to call him if I found myself alone with his friend. Only about a week after my mom and I moved in, my uncle kicked his friend out. I was young, and I didn't think much about the conversation, and I had completely forgotten about it. About two years ago, my uncle very

suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. After he passed, his friend came back into my grandma's life. I think my Grandma Connie used my uncle's friend as a replacement for my uncle, and at first, everything seemed fine. But after a few visits, I started feeling weird around him, and I didn't know why. I remembered that conversation my uncle had with me, but I tried to move past it because it was over 10 years ago that we had that conversation, and he is married to a lovely woman, so I thought maybe things had changed. He made a lot

of dumb jokes that I never found funny but were always harmless. For example, sometimes I would come home with a bowl of snacks in it because my co-workers and I shared our snacks with each other, and he would ask where his share was—small stuff like that. But then sometimes he made jokes about what I was wearing that would make me feel... A little uncomfortable, but I was used to my family making similar jokes, so I brushed it off. Things like, "Oh, who are you trying to impress going out like that?" and, "You must be fighting

off men left and right," and other similar comments. I started to avoid leaving my room at that point when he would come over, but sometimes interactions with him were unavoidable because he would be here when I was getting home from work, or he would come over without warning. Another bit of backstory: I'm engaged to a man who lives in a different country, and with all the times that I've gone to visit him, I have really fallen in love with where he lives. On top of that, it's more affordable, and overall much safer for us to

live there, so we are working on moving me there to be with him. Well, I don't tell my uncle's friend anything because he makes me uncomfortable, but I know my grandma shares everything with him, so he knows all about this situation. He has, on more than one occasion, asked me why I was moving, and I would explain that it's because that's where my fiancé lives, and I absolutely love everything about where he lives. My uncle's friend will always come back with, "Oh, of course, it's for a boy," and he's also made comments along the lines

of, "Oh, I guess you're in love." I just don't understand it, but whatever. He acts bothered that I'm engaged and moving away, but again, I would just hide myself away in my room and constantly convince myself that I was reading into things and overreacting. I also knew I couldn't say anything to my grandma about it because my family is one of those families where if you don't want comments, you need to cover yourself up. I'm not allowed to wear shorts around male family members because if they look at me and have bad thoughts, then it's

my fault. Now, all of these small instances were very uncomfortable for me, but I just ignored them, hid in my room, and did what I could to avoid the situations. But then something happened today, and now I'm just feeling icky. I went into work, and my co-worker told me how yesterday a man fitting the description to a T of my uncle's friend came into my work in the afternoon after I had already left, asking about me—any new details, like what it looks like where I live, even details about my move to another country. He made

comments about being my uncle's friend. Now, I didn't hear any of this, as I had already left for the day, but my co-worker is a very trustworthy person and doesn't just come up with this kind of stuff for fun. She'll even be the first one to call someone out on their BS if she catches them lying, so I trust what she's saying is true. But he was saying that, however, since my uncle had passed, he has been trying to see me more and more because he just cares about me and sees me as his daughter.

That comment alone weirded me out because I've barely interacted with this man, and I avoid it at all costs, so why does he feel that close to me? He also started talking at length about my move to another country, and he wouldn't leave the topic. He just kept talking about how he doesn't get how I could fall in love with someone so far away and how I should just stay here and find someone here to fall in love with. He was making other comments basically about how he doesn't approve of my move to be with

my fiancé. This man is weirdly obsessed with me. I never told him where I worked, but I know my grandma probably did. It still weirds me out that he came into my workplace looking for me, and then talking at length with my co-workers about my choices, my future, and how he doesn't like it when I barely know him. I just can't wait to get out of this house and move far away from him. So, the story took place when I was 12. It is more than half my lifespan ago, but I still get really uneasy

when thinking back to it. I tried to block it from my mind and not guess as to what could have happened if it wasn't for the two kind strangers that helped me. I was walking home from school one day. It was a four-kilometer walk along a busy road, and I was alone. However, at one of the intersections I crossed, there was a tall, dirty-looking man who noticed me. I would guess his age was early 30s, but being a kid back then, I struggled to tell the age of adults. He started following me and trying to

strike up a conversation. He kept telling me that I was beautiful and that he wanted us to be friends. He asked me where I lived, if my parents would be home, and many more questions, but I tried to shrug him off and be polite. I didn't really answer any of his questions; I just increased the pace at which I walked. When we were nearing the block on which I lived, I started becoming really uneasy. He was following me, and I obviously wanted him to leave me alone. He gave off a weird vibe because adults didn't

usually speak to me that way. The only way I could get rid of him would be to give him my cell phone number and agree to answer when he called. Because the situation made me uncomfortable, I gave him a fake number and hightailed it out of there. A few months passed without me running into that man again, so I... completely put this out of my mind. He's probably just some weirdo; however, as you can guess from here, things did not stay that way. One day, approximately four months later, I found myself walking home after school

again. I will admit that I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings; that was until I heard what sounded like footsteps running up behind me. My reflexes quickly made me turn around to look, and it was that same creepy man that I had encountered before. He slowed his pace as he reached me, but he was yelling at me the entire time. I figured out that I had given him the wrong number, and he was furious. He kept yelling and yelling, saying that I think I am better than him, and that was why I gave him

a fake number. I was terrified at that moment, as he was really angry. I was afraid that he was going to hurt me, but I couldn't grab the attention of any motorists. I speed-walked to the closest petrol station, which was luckily not too far, with him following behind me, still yelling the entire time. When I got to the station, I immediately got the attention of two burly men standing next to their pickup truck. They must have seen the terrified look on my face, plus the man following me, as they immediately ran over to ask if

I was all right. I was too scared to speak; I just shook my head frantically as I tried to get behind them. They immediately demanded to know why the man was following me. He fed them some BS, and he tried to lie and say he was my brother. I just silently kept shaking my head. I guess they figured out what was happening at this point, as they started yelling at the man, accusing him of being a child predator. I didn’t stay to find out what happened; I took the opportunity of him being distracted and started

to run away. The man noticed that I was leaving, and he tried to take off after me, but the men really took offense to this, as they immediately tackled him and threw him in the back of their pickup. He was screaming at this point. I sped off with the guide at inconceivable speed, right past me, and just kept going. I was happy that they took him away, but I didn't stop running until I reached home. I had no idea what to make out of this entire exchange, but it really shook me. I really didn't want

to know where they took that creepy guy or what they did to him afterward; in all honesty, I didn't want to know. I told my parents, and I altered the route I walked home from school. I never saw him again, and I'm thankful for that. Even though I could not say what I needed at that moment, those two kind strangers saw that I was in distress and dealt with it for me. Even after all these years, I still remember the sheer terror and then relief when they took him away. So, I'm going to tell you

the story of my brief encounter with a man called Happy. I’m sure it wasn't his real birth name, but it adds to the creepy ambience of the story. Even though it happened around nine years ago, sometimes he still crosses my mind, especially on gloomy, overcast days in LA, just like the day I met Happy. It was 2013. I was working at a cannabis dispensary in Venice Beach, a block from the boardwalk. A good 35 percent of our patrons were unhoused people. Occasionally, someone experiencing severe psychosis would try to come in, but if they were screaming

or unintelligible, security would not let them in. If they hadn't presented the Holy Trinity of medical papers, ID, and cash, they were good to go. We had a compassion program where we'd bag up grams of shake left over from the bottoms of jars and give them away completely free—one person per day to anyone who asked. Word about this quickly spread on the boardwalk. Generally, these people would be the nicest, most polite and considerate customers, even if they did smell a bit stinky and their money got pulled out of a sweaty sock. No one working there

would ever bat an eye if someone came in smelling like they just slept on the beach for a week next to a bottle of vodka, as long as they just calmly bought their weed and were on their way like any other customer. It was a foggy and chilly day around the holidays, sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Someone called out of work, so I was the only person in the back bud-tending. There was another employee at the reception and a security guard at the front door, but I was alone in the back room. There are cameras,

but no one is actively watching them. The sky walked in after being checked in at the front. He was the only customer at the moment, and I swear the whole room got a little colder as he walked in. He was wearing a very worn-in, deeply faded, wrinkled, floor-length leather duster jacket—like a cowboy. It looked like he lived and slept in these same clothes for years. We didn't really allow hats, hoods, or sunglasses in the store, so I was surprised that security didn't make him take his hat off. This man was like six foot five and

built like a boulder—not really obese, but just large enough to pick you up and toss you like a ragdoll. The stench that came with him was unlike anything I've ever smelled before, though—it was beyond BO, beyond piss, and smelled like actual death, as if he had raw, rotting carcasses tucked under his… Thick, long leather coat. I thought I had been hardened by the plenty of nasty body stink before, but this was absolutely revolting and far beyond anyone who hadn't showered lately or pissed their pants. I'm trying not to inhale very deeply, and I say, "Hi,

sir. Excuse me, I'm sorry, would you mind taking off your hat? Just store policy," with a big customer service smile. "What are you looking for today?" He groans steeply and is walking very slowly, shuffling and dragging his feet. His voice sounds like he gargles with gravel—rough and wet, raw and angry. "I don't take off my hat," he said. At this point, I'm not trying to argue with this man about his hat either. Let's just get him in and out. I glance down and see that he's not wearing shoes. The bit I can see from under

his coat shows one of his ankles is massively purple or blackish colored and swollen, like the size of a melon. The bottoms of both of his feet are bloody and torn up, and I realize he is leaving a slight trail of blood as he drags his ragged feet across the concrete floor of the shop. My first thought is: why and how the did security let this guy come in? Second, this guy is obviously injured, and that is concerning as a human being. Making sure to keep the display shelf between me and this guy— but that's

only about a foot of space, kind of like a bar. He gets closer to me, and the stench gets stronger. I meekly but sincerely ask, "Are you all right, sir?" His eyes then flared at me. "What do you care?" he said. In my head, I'm kind of like, well, I tried; you know? Not my life, not my problem, not my monkeys, not my circus—great. "So what can I get for you?" I asked. He then pulls up one of his sleeves to expose his forearm, and it was covered in a large amount of burns, like from

a cigar. Some were old, some were healed, and some were fresh and infected. It wasn't track marks; it was clearly third-degree burns. He also had a jagged, homemade-looking stick-and-poke tattoo of a smiley face—the crooked circle, two lines for the eyes, and a early-looking smile. "Happy! My name is Happy," he said. The rotting stink was so strong, and I needed to breathe, so I took little gasps—the least amount possible. "I walked here. I walked all the way from Pasadena." "Wow, sir, that's a very long walk. Anyway, what are you looking for today?" "Just for you," he

said. His eyes are dark and menacing; he's smeared with a layer of grime like he lives in the woods. He doesn't look like the average crushed punk or disabled veteran that you would generally see living on the beach. It was hard to guess his age, but he wasn't that old or young—somewhere between 30 and 50. He looked like he dragged himself from his log cabin—like what would happen if you entangled some quantum mechanics poorly and mixed Ed Gein with an 1800s homesteader, then transported him to 2013. I, of course, have never seen this man before,

but once was more than enough to make him unforgettable. He kept staring at me, and I moved as far back as I could to the wall, hopefully out of his grasp. If he lunged, I would need to walk out from behind the register and around to him to get to the security guard. I was weighing my options. I decided to grab a bunch of compassion grams, and then I weighed out an eighth and I marked it down that I'd pay for it later. He's still just leering at me, wheezing heavy breaths. "We actually have a

special today, only for people who walked more than 10 miles to get here. This is all for you—on the house. Thank you for stopping by." He accepted the bag but continued to just stand there and stare at me. "Thank you, Happy," I said. It actually worked! He grunted a guttural noise that was not a word and slowly turned to shuffle back towards the door. At the door, he turned back towards me and said, "I'll see you later." He finally walked out after leaving plenty of his residual stench of death behind. Thank any and all the

gods I did not see Happy later—or ever again. When I asked security why the F they let him in, he said that he had noticed his bloody feet and said, "Hey, bro, are you all good? It looks like it hurts." Apparently, Happy stepped up in his face, threatened to choke him out, and called him a stupid n-word. Since it was just him and two 22-year-old, 130-pound girls, he wasn't trying to die and hoped that Happy would just get his stuff and leave. He was watching the cameras in the back, ready to call the police and

owners if anything got weird. Apparently, we had different definitions of weird, but I understood his reaction, and ultimately, we were all fine—just spooked and creeped out. But now we were left needing to clean blood off the floor, with bleaching gloves, and texting our boss that he owed us free weed. He actually agreed, and we all lived happily ever after. About 10 years ago, a few of my buddies and I went on a short-lived camping and fishing trip to a pretty remote lake a few hours from our small town. We were all packed and ready to

go. The trip was pretty quiet until we started to get pretty close to our destination. As we got closer, I think we all started to… Get a little excited, and some of us had that excitement adrenaline rolling through us when we got there. We set up camp—nothing too crazy; we only had two tents between the four of us and our own backpacks with what we needed for the weekend. After getting settled in, we grabbed all of our fishing gear, a ton of beer, and headed off to the lake to try our luck with fishing. It

was probably around 3 P.M. We were all having a blast. Some of us may have been a little bit more drunk than we should have been, but that was all part of the fun—just men being men. After a number of hours rolled by, we were all ready to call fishing a day. It was around eight o'clock, and dusk was approaching, so we started heading back to camp. We were quite a way from camp still, and we didn't realize how far we had gone. We knew we were a ways out, but I think we all sort

of lost track of how far we really went. It was no big deal, though; the sunset was beautiful, and we were approaching camp just in time for nightfall when Jimmy and Tom were getting out of their boat. We noticed some flashing lights up ahead through the woods past camp. When they disappeared after a few seconds, we figured they were just passerby, so it only shortly lived in our minds. "Holy crap, guys! Look!" Tom said. We all looked in the direction he was pointing, and there was a freaking bear no more than 50 feet away from

where John and Timmy were standing. "Yo, just stay calm, dude, and he will leave us alone." We all quietly walked back to camp relatively slowly because we didn't want to set off the bear into thinking we were prey. Luckily, we all made it safely to camp. Just as soon as we thought all of our problems were gone, we heard a car in the distance. It was rolling in closer now, and we started to see the headlights. Then, a few moments after that, the car rolled up on us at camp. We saw an all-blacked-out SUV. My

gulp in fear as I've heard horror stories of people being attacked in the woods just out of the blue, and unfortunately, that's where my mind went—fight or flight. I felt a slight panic inside as the two men stepped out of the vehicle. They both had to be over six foot one or six foot two, and they were both ripped as hell. They introduced themselves as sheriffs and asked us what we were doing out here. Tom said we were camping, and that's when I blurted out to leave us alone. I had a fishy feeling about what

was going on. We could barely see them in the darkness as they were shining their dumb flashlights at us. They said they saw us fishing and demanded to see our fishing licenses, which we all had, so it wasn't really a problem. I didn't want to give mine up, though, because I started to wonder if they were even real cops. Plus, we didn't do anything for them to suspect that either of us committed a crime, and I verbally let them know that I knew my rights as a U.S. citizen. One of them demanded I give them

my ID, and they threatened to arrest me if I didn't give it up. I wasn't letting him scare me, though; my dad is a cop, and I know it's not normal for them to abuse their power like this. My father always told me what to do in a situation like this. I told them my father was the chief of police for the county, and I asked them what county they worked for, but they didn't answer my question, of course. And yeah, I did lie a little, but I was hoping to build some street cred for

our group. My dad wasn't the chief of this county specifically, but the next county over. After I told them that, though, we could all tell that they were starting to get choked up, and they started pretending like there wasn't an issue any longer. "Sorry for bothering you guys," one of them said, then they walked away and got back in their car. As they were walking back to the SUV, we noticed they weren't wearing a traditional police uniform; they were just wearing normal flannels and sweatpants. Maybe we should have chased them down or called the police,

but we never did. We were all sure that they were fake police. When I got home, I told my dad about it, and he never alerted the station because none of us could give enough detail about the men. I can't help but wonder what their plans were. Whether or not they were real cops, if they weren't, were they going to try and search us and disarm us of all of our weapons, then attack us and rob us? If they were real cops, were they just on a power trip? Who knows? But I'm glad nothing worse

came from this situation. I've hesitated to share this story for a long time because I know how important the mutual trust between a resident and their landlord or maintenance staff is, and I don't want to instill any unnecessary distrust in anyone's landlord. I've shared stories before about dangerous and scary residents that I've encountered while working at apartment complexes, but this is a story about my time on the other side of things as a renter. Before I had even graduated from high school, I knew I wanted to live at Paradise Apartments. I was a bit naive

at the time, drawn in by the many amenities that I would never use, but I primarily wanted to live there. Because the complex was pet-friendly and within my small budget, when the time eventually came for me to get my own place, I got the only apartment they had available and moved in. Unfortunately, I came to realize the apartment wasn't as nice as I originally thought; the building was old but remodeled, so it had all the typical plumbing issues and thin walls. I also learned it was not the safest part of town. I was primarily an

online student, but I had one class that met in person twice a week around 8 a.m. Being a bit of a homebody, I rarely left during the day except for that class, an occasional shopping trip, or to spend time with my boyfriend in the evening after he got off work. My apartment was a bit of a Bermuda Triangle; even though it was only 600 square feet and I lived alone, things had a way of growing legs and walking away. I had two kittens at the time, and I often blamed them for things disappearing. Something odd

that kept recurring, however, was that I'd find my underwear box out and sitting in the center of my bedroom floor on days when I had class. I didn't have a proper dresser; instead, I was using an Ikea shelf with some Ikea boxes for designated clothes like socks, underwear, pants, and pajamas. I always could have sworn I'd put the underwear box right away after getting ready for class, but I chalked it up to me forgetting as a result of having to get up early and being focused on getting to class on time. Arguably paranoid, I started

to think that some of my laundry was disappearing as well; his favorite articles of clothing would go into the laundry hamper and seemingly never come back with the clean clothes. Towards the end of that semester, I was working one evening on a homework assignment when my boyfriend called to let me know his roommate had accidentally locked him out of their apartment. I had a key to their place, so he asked if I could run over real quick to let him in. Before I left, I made a mental note that I had literally left every single

light in my apartment on. Because I was living on a pretty tight budget, I normally made a point of turning off all the lights when I left, but my boyfriend only lived about five minutes away, so I knew I'd be there and back very quickly. Sure enough, I got back less than 15 minutes later. I immediately sensed something was off as I could see the lights were all off through the blinds. I called my boyfriend and drove over to meet him. We unlocked the door and went in; all the lights were off in my apartment.

Thinking maybe I had a power outage, I flipped on the main light, and it came on. My boyfriend checked the entire apartment, but no one was inside. However, someone had gone through and systematically turned off every light at their switch, including my lizard's basking light—the only light that I always left on because it was on a timer—and my laptop, which I had left open on my assignment. But now, the computer had been powered down and closed. I called the emergency maintenance number and explained that someone had been inside my apartment and that they must have

used the key because there was no sign of forced entry. The manager called me back and told me I had to be imagining things; maybe I had forgotten that I turned off the lights before I left. I assured him that I wouldn't have turned off the computer or the lizard light; someone had been in my apartment. I told him I was really worried because obviously this person had a key to get in. Either they worked for the complex, or maybe it was a previous tenant. I asked if they had changed the locks after the previous

tenant moved out, and they assured me that they changed the locks after every move-out. The manager suggested that maybe it was a friend pranking me or that someone else had given a key to me. The only other people I had given keys to were my boyfriend and my mom, but she lived three hours away. In any case, neither of them would have pranked me in this way. The manager finally agreed to send someone out immediately to change the lock for my peace of mind. I brought up my concern that it could be someone on the

staff since they would be the only other people with keys. The manager claimed the keys were locked in a special safe that required a personalized code to track who took what keys when and where, and that they were kept in an office with a security camera. They changed my locks, but I had my doubts that it would do much good. As far as I was aware, there were only two maintenance men who worked at the complex: one nice older man who didn't seem all that skilled and a younger guy with a scruffy beard who gave

me a bad feeling. I suspected that he had to be the one breaking in. When I had first moved in, the manager had told me I'd be getting a new kitchen counter within the first three days. I waited to move my kitchen stuff, but after a week they hadn't come, and then after a few months, I'd completely forgotten about it. One day, I was sitting in my living room when the scruffy maintenance guy walked in without knocking or announcing himself, and I hadn't received a notice to expect him. He said he was there to replace

my countertop, but it took him two days to install one small piece of counter. A few weeks later, I was getting out of... The shower and I heard a single knock at the door. I called out, "Just one minute," and I hurried to get some clothes. Not even two seconds later, the door started to open. I had to slam it shut because I was still wrapped in a towel, to stop him from coming in. He claimed he hadn't heard me call out, but I had my doubts. I don't remember what excuse he had for coming

in another time, but I found a note from him stating that he had come in again. It didn't give me a reason as to why, but it mentioned that he made sure not to let my cats out. He also made a note about my third cat being cute, except I didn't have a third cat. I did, however, have a picture of my childhood cat in my bedroom on the Ikea shelf where I kept my clothes. At that point, I went to the office to ask him to make a note in my file that I wanted,

A, at least 24 hours' notice before entry, and B, to always be present for future entry. Now that I knew without a shadow of a doubt that someone was coming in secretly, it all made sense; it hadn't been long after the surprise maintenance visit stopped that things had begun moving around in my apartment. He was also on-site all the time. Everyone on staff also lived at Paradise, so he knew when I came and went. We knew how many times he had snuck in and how many small souvenirs he had stolen. He could have been coming

in while I was asleep, even after the night with the lights. I put my own lock on the door, but I still didn't totally trust the apartment. I ended up buying a condo shortly after, with help from my parents. I subleased the apartment and moved right around that time. I also got my first job working in a different apartment complex. In the final days before I left, my mom came into town to help me move my stuff. While she was home alone (I was at a class), she caught the scruffy maintenance man trying to get

his key to work in my lock. She demanded to know what he was doing, and he said he was there to paint the front door. I hadn't received a notice, though, and he didn't have any paint or supplies. She told him he could wait until after I moved out. A few years later, I would stop by the owner of Paradise Apartments while working at another complex in town called OK Apartments. So basically, "shopping" is when an employee from another apartment complex takes a tour at another apartment complex under the guise of wanting an apartment for

the purpose of gaining information that they might not otherwise easily give up. It can also be performed by your own management company to make sure that you're doing a good job. There were certain tells a shopper always gave, like asking specifically worded questions: "Is it safe here? I'm a felon; can I live here?" You know, ones that required specifically worded answers and were easy to trip up on. Being too wealthy for the complex (Rolex watch, sports car, nice suit, etc.) and being too flexible on what they were interested in—they wanted to see all the layouts

and were open to moving in whenever. This guy seemed too old and too well off to be randomly considering an apartment at OK, as we were geared towards lower-income folks. While I was giving the tour, he asked if I had any opinions on other apartment complexes in town and mentioned Paradise specifically. Normally, I wouldn't bad-mouth any other complexes; I preferred to win them over by showing them the positives of our community. But I told him that I probably wasn't the best person to answer that question because I was probably the only person to give Paradise

a bad review in the last five years. He asked me to elaborate, and I told him my apartment had been broken into. I suspected it was someone on their maintenance staff. At that point, he revealed that he was the owner of Paradise, and he was very disturbed to hear I had this experience. He asked me to describe the maintenance man in detail. I assured him it was in the past and that I was over it, but he insisted on calling the manager over at Paradise (which was still the same guy) to ask him over speakerphone

if they had any issues with the maintenance staff back in the year I lived there. He answered yes, that there had been a scruffy young maintenance man he had to fire because he had been caught multiple times breaking into the apartments of single women. Satisfied, the owner told me that the issue had been resolved and asked if I would be willing to change my review. I told him no, that none of this had changed the fact that I experienced it, but I was happy he was actually able to validate what I had suspected. In the

years I worked as a leasing agent, I learned a lot about where complexes would cut corners to save time and money. From my experience, a lot of complexes did not switch out the locks if the tenant was good. A lot did not require background checks for employees, even though they did require them from tenants. Keys also got passed out willy-nilly to vendors and maintenance during turns, and employees frequently received master keys that would open all the doors. I won't go so far as to say every complex operates this way, but every complex I worked at

was doing this when I started there. Because of my own experiences, once I began managing a complex, I enforced strict rules about changing locks. Locks, tracking keys, posting proper notices, and requiring background checks for all employees and tenants—at least here in Florida with Mia's Law going into effect this year—background checks for employees and security measures for keys are required for all complexes. Even still, if you're renting an apartment, stay diligent. If you have a reason to believe someone is coming into your home, you should document it and let the staff, police, or your friends and

family know. You never know who might have a key to your apartment. In 2008, I was in the market for buying a new truck. I went to a few dealerships but only found a few that merely caught my eye. I was in no rush to get a new one; I just wanted to make sure I was going to be happy with the one that I was getting. That was what was most important to me. I found a 2005 F-150 on Craigslist for a decent price. It had low miles on it as well. The only thing

that needed to be replaced were some tires, which was kind of a hassle, but I was still interested. I figured I could talk him down on the price for the inconvenience of it. He gave me the supposed address of where he and the truck were located, and when I showed up, I was met with a nice older gentleman, probably late 50s, early 60s. He seemed like an all-right man, or a normal guy; he was very straight to the point and didn't have much to say. I asked him for a slight discount on the truck considering

the tires, and he seemed reluctant at first, but we came to an agreement. My fiancé rode with me to look at the truck in case I were to end up buying it; that way, she could drive the other vehicle home, and I would drive the new truck. That's what ended up happening: after a quick test drive, I decided I wanted it, so I gave him the cash, and we were on our merry way. I was excited about it; I got a new truck for such a killer deal. We went home, and we went on our

butter day. It wasn't until later that night, when I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, that I saw a shadow of what looked like a man standing in my driveway. Now, I have a long driveway, and we live in the country. It was really dark, and all I could see was the shadow. It was pitch black; I guess I didn't even know if it was a man or a woman, but from the build of the person, I assumed it was a man. I called out to him, asking who he was, but he didn't answer. I

threatened to call the police if he didn't walk away, and after that, he started walking towards me. I ran inside quickly and told my wife to call the police and let them know that there was an unknown man in our driveway. I ran into our room, grabbed my rifle, and walked back outside to try and scare him off, but he was gone. I was hoping he got the memo. Right then, I chuckled to myself as I thought I scared him off, but I was completely wrong because, in an instant, I heard my wife screaming for

my help inside. I ran as fast as I could to her and saw that the manager had him pinned to the ground. I ran over to them and hit him with the butt of my rifle, knocking him out cold. Apparently, we left the garage door unlocked, and that's how he let himself into our house. I put a zip tie around his wrists and placed them behind his back in case he were to wake up and try to run off. We waited for the police to show up, and I wasn't sure if he was even alive

at one point, so I checked his pulse; his heart was still beating, so I was kind of glad I didn't murder him. The cop showed up and arrested the man, but not before taking him to the hospital. My wife and I were taken in for questioning, but ever since then, I've been an over-the-top, on-edge, paranoid kind of person. I genuinely think I developed some sort of PTSD from this. I learned that he placed some GPS tracker under our truck before selling it to us, and that's how he found us. Why? I'm not sure. The whole

thing is extremely strange. My wife and I still think about it from time to time. We don't have a clue what he had against us or why he would want to do such a thing to us at all, and the police never got a good answer from the man on why he did it. It's clear there was something mentally wrong with him, but still, what compels a man to be violent like that for no reason? He's honestly lucky he walked out of my house alive after grabbing my wife like that. Just saying. So for a

quick backstory, I found a stalker for about four years who was never aggressive or sent me proper threats. So stubborn as I am, I did my best to ignore him and not give him the satisfaction of showing him any fear. To be honest, after a while, I wasn't even scared anymore since he almost never came close to me. I know being stealth can affect people severely, even in a case like mine, and that's totally valid, but I guess I got lucky, and I was never really psychologically affected by it. His stalking behavior mostly just consisted

of sending me letters and gifts such... As photos of my own apartment building from the outside, things he dug out of my trash can, and so on. I called the police many times, but they weren't able to catch or identify him since I barely use any social media aside from Reddit and have no personally identifying information here. I didn't think he'd ever see it. One person even asked, "Does he know you're putting him on blast on Reddit?" and I answered, "Maybe. Maybe it would make him angry, or maybe he'd be turned on. Don't know. Don't

care." Well, I know the real answer now; he did see it, and he definitely didn't like it. Like I said, he was never usually aggressive, and he never came close to me. [Music] The closest I know of was when he sent me a picture of me by myself unlocking my apartment door. I consider myself a pretty vigilant person, and I'm thinking that he might have hidden a camera there instead of being there to take the photo himself. I think I would have noticed him if he was physically there, but I don't know for sure. I

don't know how he got wind of the AMA, but he did. The next week was quiet—no letters, and I didn't see him anywhere. Then he left me letters with printed-out questions and my answers from the post. He also left me a long, hateful letter towards my boyfriend about an issue that I had posted on the German version of r/AmItheAsshole. His letters were never hateful like that before, though he never seemed happy with my boyfriend. He wrote about how I should share the spotlight with him since I got so much attention thanks to him. A few

days later, I got a gift, but this time he didn't leave it in my mailbox or at my car like he usually did. No, this time he left it inside the apartment building, right in front of my door. I didn't take it inside my apartment, but I opened it outside. It was a pretty big box, which was also unusual, and it was also taped shut. As I'm typing this out, I realize that it wasn't a good idea at all to open it, and it could have ended badly for me. But luckily, he didn't send me

a bomb or anything. He did, however, send me several zip ties, a roll of tape commonly used to tape off walls when painting, nothing you could use to restrain someone, a TV remote with most buttons picked off, a pack of Band-Aids with a few used ones—not actually used, just made to look like that according to police—and a framed picture of me. You could tell the picture was taken a few days ago, and my boyfriend was next to me but cut out of the photo. The frame was shattered, and the package was full of glass shards,

clearly more than just what could have fallen out of the frame. They were also intentionally put inside the crumpled newspaper that was stuffed in there to keep it all in place. I called the police right away and gave it to them. They were more concerned this time; they finally told me they'd send patrol cars more frequently. He didn't show up or leave me any letters or gifts for about another week and a half, but eight days ago, it started again. I found letters in my mailbox where he wrote about how he wasted his time on

me, how I haven't been appreciating his effort, and how he was wrong about me being special. Five days ago, I left my apartment in the morning, and I heard a crunch sound as I stepped on my doormat; there was broken glass under it. At night, I went off to work in a hurry because I was in a hurry, and I was just going to make my boyfriend call the police. But then I found my car had also been vandalized. The signs were scratched, the light was smashed, and the windshield had a phrase painted on it.

The phrase read, "It's time, soon," with my first and last name. I went back inside and called the cops myself. They found the same phrase on a note under the doormat. This time, they really, really, really took me seriously, which might have been because I was just pissed at this point, which I made very clear. If, for some reason, you're like me and just too stubborn to be afraid of a stalker like mine, all of this—the letters, gifts, photos, even the damn glass under my doormat—are just really annoying and inconvenient. But my car was useless

to me now, and that threat scared me. I did, however, have a dash cam in my car, and it caught everything. The police took the footage as evidence, even though the dash cam footage wasn't high quality, and I had given them photos of him that were just as good before. But they said it wasn't enough. They told me they'd look into it further and promised to send more patrol cars again. Then it was quiet for two more days until two days ago. Someone rang the doorbell just after 4 AM. My boyfriend and I got up,

but we were both hesitant. I saw blue lights outside, and just as I got up, I heard them shouting, "This is the police! Open the door!" They told us they were called by one of our downstairs neighbors, who came home from his night shift about an hour earlier and heard someone else enter the building after them before their door was fully shut. My neighbors know of my situation, and I've asked them to make sure they don't let strangers into the building. Before this, the neighbor then went into his apartment and looked through the peephole. We

have motion-activated lights in... The stairway, so he waited to see if they turned back on, and they did. Then he saw a middle-aged man walk upstairs. Above this neighbor, only me and my boyfriend, and a single mom with three kids who probably won't be getting any visitors at 3 AM, they came and found my stalker one half floor above me on the stairs. I should have been able to see the cop car since there's a little window up there; they had their lights on, but he either missed them or he wanted to get caught. They

found a pocket knife on him, and he confessed to being my stalker right away. He's finally caught; they got him. It took four years, a provocative Reddit post, and one very vigilant and caring neighbor, but he's finally done for now. At least he's facing several charges, and I've collected every single piece of evidence over the past four years. I don't know what kind of outcome I can expect, but for now, I finally got some peace. For some context, I'm a 32-year-old female. This happened to me when I was about 25 or 26. I worked full-time

as a researcher at a university, which is where these encounters took place. I'm not a professor or anything, and because of my age at the time, I could have easily been mistaken for just another student wandering around campus. On some days when the weather was nice, I would prefer to spend my lunch hour strolling around the university grounds outside or sitting underneath a shady tree on a bench. During the time I was not sitting in a cramped corner of a lab, one of these days I was sitting on a bench enjoying the fresh air when

a male student walking by asked if he could sit next to me. I'm a pretty shy and awkward kind of person, so even though I would really have preferred sitting alone, I said sure. He initiated simple conversation, to which I obliged, but being careful not to be too forthcoming. He mentioned he had seen which department building I came and went from, which slightly alarmed me given I had never seen this person before in my life. But I pushed the thought from my mind; after all, the weather had been decent lately and I had spent nearly

all my lunch hours for the past week outside. Yes, I told him that I was not a student but rather I worked here. He told me he was an engineering student, and then he followed up with asking me out to coffee sometime. I apologized and told him that I had a boyfriend and that I would have to decline. He parted ways after that, and I assumed I probably wouldn't see him around again. About a week or two went by, and I was spending another lunch hour outside on campus, sitting on a different bench. Somewhere seemingly

out of nowhere, the same man from before asked if he could sit next to me again. I don't remember why he started talking to me about it first; my mind was reeling, and I was rather uncomfortable having to potentially turn this guy down a second time. Sure enough, he asked me again if we could go out for coffee sometime. I apologized and reminded him that I had a boyfriend and that I would not be meeting him for coffee. Again, he left after that. I was feeling rather anxious now, but it still hadn't reached a level

where I felt like I had to be too concerned. A few days later, I had finished work and I was leaving the building to walk to where I had parked my car. The university charges a fortune for parking passes, even if you're employed by them, so I had always opted for free street parking about a 10-minute walk away from campus. My walking route would take me down several quiet residential streets with minimal car traffic; even pedestrian traffic was pretty sparse on the busiest of days. It wasn't until I was about halfway to my car down

one of these quiet back streets that I noticed someone walking directly across the street from me but keeping a few paces behind. I noticed him from my peripheral vision, and I didn't want to flat out turn around to stare at him. I mean, it wasn't uncommon to see someone else by any means; I was just always trying to be aware of my surroundings when walking the streets alone. I had to make a few turns coming up anyway, and the chance that he would be going the same way as me was slim, but he did. He

made all the turns that I did, still walking on the sidewalk across from me a few steps behind. I did not want to look at whoever it was; I didn't want him to know that I was aware of what I thought he was doing. I quickened my pace to a speedy walk. I was approaching the first of the two busier streets before I would reach my car, and his pace quickened to keep up with me. That was the moment I panicked—the moment I was sure that he was indeed following me. After that, I started a

full-out jog to cross the first of the two busy streets; he ran to keep up behind me and was now on the same side of the street that I was. I was now nearly at my car; I had to cross the last busy street and get about 100 meters, and then I would be there. But it was crossing the street that worried me. I often had to stop and wait a good minute or so before it was clear enough to do so. That's really the... Case he would catch up with me as if the stars

aligned. As soon as I made it, running to the busy street, I had a gap to cross. I booked it as fast as I could, finally turning around once I'd made it to look and yell at the man who had been pursuing me. It was him I could have suspected, but now it was confirmed: he's an engineering student whom I had turned down for coffee. "Stop following me!" I yelled at him across the busy street. "Can I just talk to you?" he yelled back. I didn't even answer him; the answer should have been obvious from

the start, and I was certainly never going to give my time to anyone who had just followed me and then chased me for about a kilometer. I kept moving quickly to my car, so determined to get the hell out of there that I didn't even care if he saw which car was mine. He had given up following me and never tried to cross the road, too. To my relief, I got home, and I broke down. I mean, worse things had happened to other people, no doubt, and I was not harmed, fortunately, but I was shook.

I had some anxieties walking to and from work after that. It wasn't long before a co-worker and I would walk most of the distance back to our cars together after work. I even changed where I started parking for a time. A few weeks had passed since the incident, and I had not seen him around campus at all. I started spending my lunches in the lab instead of outside, but occasionally I would go to the student center to buy lunch instead. This one particular day, the food court in the student center was packed, almost shoulder to

shoulder. I was standing in line at a burger stall when I heard a guy trying to get someone's attention in the crowd. I looked up, and it was him again, waving to me and trying to make his way through the people. I panicked, and even though I'm terribly shy, I started a scene and yelled to him to leave me the hell alone. His face dropped instantly as people stared at us, and he slinked back into the sea of students. My heart was pounding, and I was shaking. I don't even remember if I ended up getting

food after that; I went back to work, and from then on, I was even more focused on my surroundings than I ever was before. It's been five or six years since then, and I still work at the university. I'm so relieved to say I never saw him again after the food court, and I haven't had any other harrowing encounters on campus. I'm so diligent about being aware of my surroundings, especially when I have to walk to and from campus alone. I never asked this guy's name, so I couldn't even report the incident to the campus

police or anything. All in all, I'm just glad I never saw him again, and I can only hope he never did this to any other girl before or after me.