I'm 24 years old and I live in Lancing, Michigan. My dream was always to become an IT expert, work in a big tech firm, code solutions, and maybe move out west. But dreams don't always unfold the way we plan.
My dad passed away suddenly last year. Mom took off soon after, leaving behind me and my 8-year-old sister, Carla. I couldn't just let her end up in the system or with relatives who barely knew us.
So, I put my IT plans on hold to take care of her. Rent, bills, groceries, all of it adds up. So, I got a job delivering pizzas for a local place called Bellaromas, right off Cedar Street.
It's not exactly glamorous, but it pays enough to keep the lights on and my sister fed. I work the evening shift most days, which means I'm usually out on the road from about 400 p. m.
until midnight, sometimes later on weekends. It can be dangerous, especially in certain neighborhoods after dark. But I never had any real trouble until July of last year.
It started as a normal Thursday evening, July 14th to be exact. I remember it was muggy outside with that thick Midwestern humidity that makes even late nights feel sticky. Orders were coming in pretty steadily.
Around 9:00 p. m. , we got a call for two large pepperoni pizzas and a side of wings.
The customer gave an address on a quiet residential street near old downtown Lancing, a place with big trees, older houses, and fewer street lights. I didn't think much of it. I wrote down the address, loaded up my car, and headed out.
The drive took about 10 minutes, but once I got there, something felt a bit off. The house was dark. Only a porch light was on, and it was flickering, making it hard to see clearly.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I tried a second time, calling out, "Pizza delivery.
" Finally, a man's voice from behind the door mumbled something like, "Be right there. " He sounded breathless, almost like he'd been running or pacing. I stood there waiting for what felt like a long minute.
When the door opened, a tall, lean guy in a gray sweatshirt stared at me through the screen. I noticed he never fully opened the main door, just enough to slip his hand through and give me a wad of cash. He took the pizzas and wings, nodded once, and then shut the door without saying a word.
His face was partially hidden by a hood, but I caught a glimpse of heavy stubble and tired eyes. The weird part, the moment he shut the door, I heard him sliding a chain lock or something. I went back to Bellaromas, finished my shift, and tried not to think about it.
But the next day, Friday, around the same time, another order came in from that exact address. same items, two large pepperoni, side of wings. My coworker teased me, saying I must have done a good job the night before for them to reorder so soon.
I laughed it off and headed out. When I arrived, the house looked even darker. I didn't see any porch light this time, just the faint glow from a TV through a window.
Again, I knocked again. This guy slowly approached and opened the screen door just a crack. He glanced at me with this sort of quiet intensity.
No smile, no small talk. He handed me the money, exact change this time, took the food, and shut the door. That was it.
The whole interaction lasted maybe 15 seconds. I remember driving back feeling uneasy. I told myself it was just me being paranoid that some people are private or shy.
But later, when I counted my tips, I realized he gave me an extra 20. Seemed odd for a guy who barely spoke. That weekend, I noticed a strange feeling whenever I was out on deliveries, like someone was watching me.
Specifically, I'd catch glimpses of a dark gray hoodie in my rearview mirror when I drove away from certain streets, or I'd see someone wearing the same hoodie standing by a bus stop and then turning away quickly. My brain told me it was probably just random folks around town. But a voice in the back of my mind kept whispering otherwise.
On Monday, July 18th, I started my shift at 4 p. m. as usual.
Around 10 p. m. , the phone rang for another delivery to that same address.
By now, I felt a genuine knot of dread in my stomach. I contemplated having a co-orker go instead, but we were understaffed, so I took the order. It was the same items again, two pepperoni and wings.
I showed up to find the house completely dark. Even the TV I'd seen before was off. I stepped onto the porch and felt that thick silence pressing in like the air itself was heavier.
I knocked. No answer. My heart pounded a bit.
I knocked again softly calling Bellaromas. Nothing. I turned to leave a little annoyed and a lot nervous.
That's when I heard footsteps on the gravel behind me. I spun around. The man in the gray hoodie stood there close enough that I could smell his stale cigarette breath.
We locked eyes for a moment. he muttered. "You alone, right?
" Before I could react, he pulled out a small knife. It wasn't huge, but it looked sharp, enough to do damage. I froze, adrenaline shooting through my veins.
My mind raced with all the survival tips I'd ever heard. Hand him your wallet. Don't make sudden moves.
Don't fight back unless you have no choice. I tried to keep my voice steady as I said, "Look, man. Take whatever you need.
I don't want trouble. " He gestured with the knife toward my pockets. With shaky hands, I fished out my wallet and phone.
He snatched them, then swung the blade at me in a quick arc. I jumped back, but not fast enough. The knife sliced across my palm, sending a sudden sting and warmth down my wrist.
I nearly dropped the pizza bag. He stuffed my wallet and phone into his hoodie, eyes darting around like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Don't follow me," he hissed.
Then he bolted into the darkness between houses, disappearing as fast as he'd appeared. For a second, I just stood there, stunned. Then the pain in my hand set in, and I realized I was bleeding.
I grabbed my car keys from the pizza bag and got back inside my old Honda Civic, called 911 from the store's spare phone once I returned. The cops arrived, asked questions, and took my statement. They checked the address.
It turned out the house was abandoned. Nobody lived there for months. Apparently, the neighbor told police that someone had been sneaking into the place at night, but they never got a good look.
The cut on my hand needed a few stitches, but it could have been worse. They never caught the guy. I replaced my phone and canceled my cards, but the sense of violation stayed with me for weeks.
I kept wondering how he got my number and if he'd been calling in false orders just to lure me there. Maybe he'd watched me the first time and realized it was easy to get me alone. The worst part is not knowing if he's pulled this stunt on anyone else or if he'll try again.
I've gone back to focusing on my IT courses part-time, hoping someday I can leave pizza delivery behind. Before we dive into the next story, if you're visiting our channel for the first time, don't forget to hit the subscribe button and turn on the bell icon to stay updated with our upcoming scary stories. [Music] I've always considered myself a pretty level-headed guy.
I'm not one to jump at shadows or spook myself into paranoia. But a few months ago, I had an experience that changed how I feel about staying late at work or being alone in general. I still think about it some nights, especially when I'm the last person out of the office.
I work in a mid-sized accounting firm in a bland office park just outside the city. It's the kind of place you drive by without giving a second glance. The building is plain.
The lights flicker occasionally, and there's a vast, poorly lit parking lot that always feels bigger than it needs to be. Most of the time, it's quiet and unremarkable. I started pulling long hours after a wave of new clients came in.
I'd stay past sunset, sometimes not leaving until 9 or 10 at night. I was the only person on our floor who didn't mind the silence. Actually, I kind of liked it at first.
There was no office chatter, no ringing phones, and I could focus on knocking out reports. That changed one Friday in late October. I'd been burning the midnight oil all week, so I barely noticed how empty the office felt after 7:00 p.
m. Around 8, I decided to step outside for a quick break. The lot was nearly deserted.
The sky had that purple gray tinge of approaching rain, and the wind was picking up. I remember standing by my car just stretching and enjoying the cool air when I felt someone's eyes on me. I turned around expecting maybe a co-orker who forgot something, but all I saw were rows of parked cars under flickering lamps.
On the far edge of the lot, I thought I saw a shape. A person just standing there. Could have been my imagination.
It was that kind of low light where everything looked like it could be a person. I shrugged it off as me being tired, stretched one last time and went back inside. A few days later, my routine was the same.
Stay late, finish a client's report, and try not to doze off at my desk. Around 9:00 p. m.
, my phone buzzed with a text from my wife asking if I was on my way yet. I figured I'd quickly check the break room for some coffee and then head out. The hallways were dim because after 6:00 p.
m. , half the lights switch off automatically to save energy. The quietness usually doesn't bother me, but that night, every step I took echoed a little too loudly.
When I got to the breakroom, something felt off. It smelled like cheap coffee that someone had left sitting for hours. The pot was still on, which was strange because nobody else was supposed to be there.
I felt a twinge of unease, but again, I figured maybe the cleaning staff forgot to turn it off. I poured out what was left, rinsed the pot, and left. As I headed back to my desk, I saw a figure at the far end of the corridor.
A man in a dark hoodie leaning against the wall. My heart skipped and I froze for a second. He didn't say anything.
He didn't move. I considered calling out, but something told me not to. Instead, I took a step closer.
Maybe it was a co-orker in casual clothes. But the second I moved, he disappeared around the corner. I tried to rationalize it.
The cleaning staff wear uniforms and none of them have hoodies. But maybe it was a new guy. Or maybe it was a co-orker who came back for something.
But why hide? Why be in the dark hallway? That evening, I rushed to gather my stuff and left.
I caught myself practically running to my car, scanning the lot for any trace of him. I didn't see anything. From that night on, I started noticing strange little details.
A door I could have sworn I locked would be slightly a jar. footprints by my desk like someone had been standing there. My supervisor asked me one afternoon if I knew why certain files in the archive room had been moved around.
I didn't have an answer. Still, I told myself it was probably the cleaning crew or some co-worker doing a project. One evening, I walked out of the building and felt that same sensation I'd felt before.
That sense of being watched. I forced myself to look around. At the edge of the lot, under one of the few working lamps, stood the same hooded figure.
I couldn't see his face, but he was turned directly toward me, perfectly still. I stared for a few seconds, hoping maybe he'd wave or give some indication he was harmless. He didn't.
At that point, I decided to be a little more cautious. I started leaving earlier or asking a coworker to stay late with me whenever possible. But deadlines are deadlines, and eventually I had to be alone again.
That's when everything got worse. A week later, I was finishing up a project around 8:30. Only half the lights were on as usual, and the office was dead silent.
I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid. Maybe that figure in the hallway was just a random stranger who slipped in. Maybe the guy in the parking lot was some bored teenager cutting through.
I tried to drown out my anxiety with loud music on my earbuds. At some point, I got this feeling that someone was standing behind me. I spun around in my chair, ripping out my earbuds, but no one was there.
My office door was open, but the hallway beyond was dark and empty. Except I noticed a piece of paper taped to the outside of the door frame. I walked over to it slowly, my pulse going nuts.
It was just a scrap of printer paper with the words hello scrolled in black marker. No signature, no explanation. I yanked it down and tossed it in the trash.
My first thought was that it was a prank, but who would do that? And why such a creepy message? That was enough for me.
I shut down my computer and hurried out. The entire walk to my car, I kept glancing over my shoulder. When I finally got in and locked the doors, I just sat there trying to calm down.
Then I looked up. In the rearview mirror, I saw him. The hoodie guy was standing on the curb, maybe 30 ft behind my car, illuminated by the red glow of my brake lights.
He wasn't moving toward me, just watching. A shiver of alarm ran through my gut, and I backed out as fast as I could. For a while, nothing happened.
I thought maybe it was over, that whoever he was had lost interest or moved on. But a couple of weeks later, I stopped by a convenience store on my way home from another late night. My mind was on autopilot.
As I came out with my coffee and snacks, I noticed a familiar shape leaning against the side of the building. Hoodie pulled low, face hidden in the shadows. It was the same posture, the same unsettling stillness.
I hurried to my car, fumbling with the keys. By the time I got the door open and turned around, he was gone. I drove home feeling uneasy, my head throbbing with possibilities.
Was he following me outside of work? Now, a few nights after that, I was in the office again, determined to finish up early. Around 7, I got a phone call from an unknown number.
Usually, I'd ignore it, but I picked up out of habit. No one spoke on the other end. I listened hard, and there was a faint crackling static.
I said, "Hello. " A couple of times, feeling more and more on edge. Finally, the call disconnected.
I tried to shrug it off, but something in my gut told me it was him. Just like that piece of paper. Hello.
I could almost hear him breathing on the other end, letting me know he could reach me anytime. That was the last straw. I told my supervisor I refused to stay late alone anymore.
I didn't even bother making up an excuse. Since then, I've been on a strict schedule, living with everyone else. The weirdest part is that nobody else in the office has mentioned seeing a stranger.
It's like he singled me out for reasons I can't explain. My name is Jonathan Parker. I live in Cleveland, Ohio, and I work as a systems analyst for a marketing firm downtown.
Because of my daughter's schedule, I am a single parent to a six-year-old named Nubles. My boss recently allowed me to work the late night shift from home. This arrangement helps me care for Nubles in the evenings, though it also means I stay awake into the early hours, huddled over my laptop.
On the night of May 4th, 2023, I was sitting in my bedroom finishing a project that was due the next morning. The overhead light was dim, and a small lamp on my desk provided most of my workspace illumination. Nubles had fallen asleep around 8:30 p.
m. and was quietly resting in her small bed near my desk. I remember checking the clock on my laptop.
It was close to 11 p. m. when I first heard a series of loud knocks at the front door.
At first, I assumed it might be a neighbor or perhaps a courier, though the hour was unusual for a delivery. The knocking continued, growing more urgent. Naturally, I felt a twinge of concern for nbles, who remained fast asleep despite the noise.
I turned on my phone's doorbell camera app to see who was outside. On the screen, I observed a young woman, perhaps in her late teens, shivering on my porch. She looked extremely distressed, glancing over her shoulder repeatedly.
I used the camera speaker to ask if she was all right, and she answered in a frantic whisper that someone had been following her for several blocks, and she was scared for her life. At that moment, my protective instincts took over. I raced downstairs, worried she might be in genuine danger.
Through the peepphole, I saw no one else but her on the porch. I opened the door a few inches and she practically stumbled inside as though she could no longer stand on her own. Her face was pale and her breathing was rapid, as if she had been running.
I quickly locked the door behind us, trying not to wake Noobs. I guided her to the living room and offered some water, though she didn't take it. She kept looking toward the door, appearing frightened.
Before I could ask for more details, a new and powerful pounding rattled the front door. I felt my heart thud in my chest. I pulled out my phone again, switching to the doorbell camera.
This time, there were three men standing outside, each wearing a dark hooded jacket. One stepped forward and demanded I open up, insisting they simply needed directions. As I spoke to them through the doorbell speaker, the girl stood behind me, trembling.
She said, "They're the ones who followed me. Don't let them in. " I hesitated.
Everything about the situation felt off. I tried to remain calm and told the men they needed to leave or I would call the police. Instead of backing away, they pounded harder on the door, demanding to come inside.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head, and the world blurred. The young woman had struck me with a heavy glass from my end table. I recall dropping my phone, the camera feed spinning as it hit the floor.
My vision dimmed, and I collapsed in a daysaze. I felt a stab of shock and confusion more than pain at first. The last thing I remembered was the front door opening.
When I regained consciousness, it was eerily quiet. My living room was in disarray. Cushions were tossed everywhere.
Drwers were pulled out and belongings were scattered on the floor. The front door stood a jar, letting in the cool night air. My forehead was throbbing and my vision swam slightly as I forced myself upright.
My first thought was nubles. I stumbled upstairs, nearly tripping on the discarded objects on the steps. By some miracle, she was still asleep in her bed.
I gently shook her awake, checking that she was unharmed. Thankfully, she was only startled by my frantic expression and the mess in the house. I called the police immediately, explaining that someone had broken in.
Officers arrived within minutes, their patrol lights flashing across my living room walls. They inspected every room in the house, but the intruders and the girl were long gone. After a preliminary investigation, the officers noted that several valuables, including my laptop, Nubles's tablet, and various small electronics were missing.
They also discovered that the criminals had rummaged through my desk drawers, likely looking for documents or money. An investigator took my statement. When I described the young woman who had initially appeared helpless, one officer exchanged a knowing glance with his partner.
They explained that this ploy had been reported several times in the area. A seemingly vulnerable individual would beg for help, gain access to a home, and then work with accompllices to rob the homeowner. In many cases, homeowners were assaulted, but rarely severely injured.
The police assured me they would do everything possible to locate the suspects. They mentioned that the group had already targeted various parts of Cleveland, though none of the victims had been able to provide clear information on where the thieves disappeared afterward. Days passed and I received no updates about the gang's whereabouts.
The girl's identity remained unknown. Each time the phone rang, I felt a rush of hope that the police might have found her, but they never did. In the end, I was left with the unsettling awareness that my desire to help a stranger in trouble had opened the door, quite literally, to a carefully orchestrated crime.
My daughter was safe, but the lingering thought still keeps me awake at night. Had I delayed my decision to open the door or inspected the situation further, perhaps the criminals would not have gained entry so easily.
