Naked mom in home

2020.10.28 11:19 selfhelpthrowaway101 Naked mom in home

NSFW
I was sexualised too young in my childhood, I don't want to say molested or abused because I feel it takes away from darker situations... but my mom was a nanny for a wealthy family and between the ages of 5-8/9 (its hard to pin point the ages) the 2 sisters she looked after (1 and 3 years older) would get us to get naked on numerous occasions sometimes touching or just looking. It was more a point of curiosity but from early on I knew men and women were different and when parents found out about it I remember all I felt was shame
I discovered masterbation at the age of maybe 6 or 7 and porn around the same age,
To this day I fap to porn 2-3x a day, (undoubtedly an addict).
Started playing runescape at age 10 and I'm still a gaming addict to this day. Easily 30000 hours over my lifetime
Parent split when I was 11 and it affected me deeply I became withdrawn from everyone.
Discovered weed at 15, in university I started smoking regularly and I'd say Im addicted to this day
In high-school the girl I had a crush on found out and enjoyed bullying me/humiliating me for it she would hug me but the truth is I'd enjoy those hugs despite the mockery attached.
I was also a fat guy in HS and at University in the past year I've lost 30kg and recently started running
I was aways a social outcast to a cruel extent, I've had 0 self esteem for a long time, and still now I can happily spend every day all day on my house without leaving for weeks, imagine solitary confinement for a prisoner with their only interactions being with prisoners for food time, imagine someone living that life voluntarily with interactions only existing between me and the shop assistants at the store I bought food at.... for 5 years ( my time at university)
During university several girl were into me and they all tried to date me but my own insecurities prevented me ever doing anything.
Age 22 2018 I met a girl on overwatch and she flew to my home town, booked a hotel room and said to me once we got in there "you can do what ever you want to me", objectively speaking she was beautiful, stunning face amazing body, and for 2 days she tried to have sex with me, tried to do anything to get me in the mood but I was too anxious all the time, I went soft during the one and only BJ,
I still ask myself "am I gay and don't know it"
I Look at women and I like what I see but sometimes I find myself looking at guys aswell ... honestly I'd say I was straight but I really don't know.
I've got a degree in Biomedical science and will be starting medicine next September 2021.. I know I've got a good career but im still unable to shake the behaviour of my past I cannot talk to women I get so much anxiety its horrible
I've reached the conclusion that I'm now 25 I can't keep being a virgin its on my mind all the time every day so I therefore need to get rid of the monkey on my back and find an escort. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep because I can't stop thinking about how lonely I am and how I've never been close enough with sometime to do something with them.. but then I realise I've had several chances with several women, I've seen councilors and therapist's on and off since I was 12, I realise I'm a pretty fucked up individual. I just want to be normal or atleast exclude 1 thing that makes me feel abnormal
I'm sorry this post is all over the place but I need to start improving my train wreck of a life, I want to get over my anxiety of women and honestly I dont want to be a virgin anymore I'm sick of it plaguing my mind.
I've written all this stuff in order to give a decent outline of the things I feel have most effected me.
Thanks for reading sorry for the lack of coherence and structure but I've been awake nearly 2 days I just had to write something and wrote what kind to mind
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2020.10.27 21:34 Pay_This Naked mom in home

Sorry if this text isn’t grammatically correct, english isnt my first language.
I will list a few points to explain my "not so great" situation better:

The reason why I am doing this post is that I really don't get along with living at home and i need advice, since my dad isnt a big help (my parents divorced when i was in 7th grade). I am really very sensitive to noise and I can't stand certain disturbing noises like loud breathing or chewing, I really get a meltdown . Because of these situations at home I can hardly find my own rhythm in everyday life. I hate it and it makes me miserable, because i really need a rhythm for my Days, so i can do things without having Breakdown.
Im sorry thats this is so long but i dont know what to do.
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2020.10.27 16:51 ThrowRA15151516 Naked mom in home

*Note: I posted this already to another sub from a different throwaway account. I had to make a new one to post on this sub because of the username rule.
This is a long story. I've tried to sum it up as best as I can. But it's still long. I just want one person to read this at least. Just one. I'm leaving out some details because it would take up an entire book if I were to write everything out.
Important prefaces - my dad is a mentally and emotionally abusive narcissistic control freak who has messed me up big time over the years. I also have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and dropped out of school in 10th grade due to mental issues. I'm ALSO extremely, very against porn, not for religious reasons even, I'm an atheist. I just believe that a man should be 100% loyal to his woman, and not even look at other women in any way (and vice versa). Porn/sex work is also a very fucked up industry in general. Say what you want about that, that's not what I'm here to discuss anyways. It's not up for debate. But it's integral information.
That being said, I've had a lot of mental health issues starting from a very young age, stemming from my dad's mistreatment of me and from intense bullying at school, as well as other events that have occurred throughout my life - including being raped/sexually assaulted when I was 14.
I also started being very promiscuous way too early on. I got my first computer at 8 years old and found hardcore porn, which I got addicted to. From 8 to 14 I was addicted to porn and saw myself as an object. A young girl viewing porn is a much different perspective than that of a guys. I was way too sexual for a child. Part of the reason behind this was probably the issues I had with my father being distant and emotionally unavailable. (I'm 18 now and haven't watched porn in like 3 years or so. I hate it so much). Anyways.
When I was 15, I was very alone and very vulnerable. My brother, who is 6 years older than me, felt bad. I was friendless. So he started to bring me sometimes when he would go over to his friend's house to watch UFC fights, or whatever. We'll call this friend "Bob".
Whenever I'd go with my brother to Bob's house to hang out, there would be maybe 3-5 of his friends there collectively. It wasn't just him and Bob. His friends girlfriends would sometimes come along too, so I wasn't always the only girl in the room.
Bob and all of my brother's other friends were normal and never really gave a fuck about me. In fact most of his friends just kind of disregarded me and I would sit there and watch the TV quietly and smoke weed. (I started dabbling with weed at around 14, my brother smokes it too, so do his friends. It's always just helped me cope).
But this friend, Bob, had an older brother. We'll call him Todd. Keep in mind - when I was 15, my brother and his friends were all around 21-22 years old. Bob's brother, Todd, was 24 at the time.
Well, I happened to be there one day when Todd came down to chill with everyone for the first time. He didn't always come down, because he was a loner. He saw me and it seemed like he immediately took notice of me. He knew I was young, and knew I was the sibling of one of his brother's friends.
He started paying special attention to me. I remember him asking me what my favorite music was/what kind of music I listened to. I replied that I'd been listening to a lot of Soundgarden lately. He then played a Soundgarden music video on the computer. He would smile at me and look at me a lot.
After that, I'd keep coming to hang out, and I'd see him more and more. Eventually, I asked him for his snapchat. Yes, I was the one who did that, oddly enough. I was lonely, vulnerable, and in need of attention. This older man was giving me that attention, so I latched onto it and went out of my way to get his snapchat. He didn't protest. He added me back and started chatting with me from there.
I began sending him nudes. At 15 years old. He gladly accepted them and would tell me (actual quotes) that I'm "his little treasure", that I'm "juicy", and that he's "counting down the days until I turn 16". 16 is the age of consent here in Canada. I wish it fucking wasn't. My naive self reveled in the attention he gave me. I became very attached to this guy.
A couple months passed and eventually I started sneaking out late at night to go and hang out with Todd by myself. He worked the evening shift at a factory, and ended work at 11pm. I would sneak out at around 2-3am almost every night, walk to his house which was 5 minutes away, and hang out with him until 4 or 5 in the morning. Sometimes even 6. This obviously started messing my sleep schedule up a lot.
He let me smoke his weed and always gave me some to have. He started buying me cigarettes too, since I started mixing tobacco with weed when I'd smoke bongs (I quit tobacco since then, it's been over a year).
He never made a creepy move on me when I'd come and hang out. We would always hang out in this "smoking room" in his basement. It had a lock and everything. He could have done something but he didn't. It wasn't until a few weeks of hanging out with him like that, that I asked if he wanted to kiss me at the door when I was about to go home. He said yes and had this childish look on his face, like a kid in a candy store who was super giddy. I gave him a peck on the lips and then left. Yes, he let a 15 year old walk at night alone that late.
Note that this guy was a virgin at 24. Never even kissed a girl, I don't think. Meanwhile, I had lost my virginity at 14 with a guy my age and had more experience since then. I know, I know. I wish I hadn't done it that young.
After that kiss, we decided we were dating. It became apparent to Bob, my brother's friend, that I was hanging out with his older brother Todd. Bob was weirded out and concerned by that, so he went to my brother to let him know. My brother questioned me about it, but I managed to convince him nothing was wrong and that it was ok. I don't know how. Apparently, Todd had also contacted my brother telling him that he liked me or something to that effect, and my brother just told Todd that it's "her choice whether she dates you or not".
So we started dating. Next up was to try and convince my parents that it was ok. At first, they lightly tried telling me that it wasn't a good idea. However, I never once remember them sternly trying to explain to me the intentions of this older dude or why he wasn't what he seemed to be. They just sort of... barely tried to tell me it was not a great idea, and then gave up. Nobody talked to Todd himself, nobody went to Todd's parents. Everyone was just trying to tell a mentally unstable 15 year old that this older guy "wasn't a good idea", as if I had the capacity to listen and understand that I was being groomed and taken advantage of. Which they didn't even explicitly say.
Part of why they gave up was because me, having BPD and a plethora of attachment issues and daddy issues, would have HUGE episodes if anyone tried coming between me and Todd in the slightest. To the point where I was suicidal and saying I'd kill myself if I couldn't see him.
If my parents tried telling me not to sleep over at his house or something, I would go into a rage, into a panic, into chaos. I'd scream and cry and self harm. They came to a "deal" that I was allowed to sleep over at his house only once a week, and I took it. They eventually just accepted the relationship and didn't protest anymore. I would bring him over, I'd go over to his house, and everything was... "normal". My dad even said "you know what, I actually kinda like this guy" to my mom.
Before we started dating, I made sure to express my hatred of porn to Todd, and I expressed, crystal clear, that I expect a man to be 100% loyal and keep his eyes to me. I do the same thing when in a relationship. I'm just very monogamous. He agreed and assured me that he stopped watching porn altogether for me, and that he was only looking at the photos I'd send him. He had so many nudes of me saved on his phone. I was young and naive, so naturally I bought his lies of loyalty.
Anyways - I met his parents and he met mine. I would go to family gatherings with him and meet his relatives. He met my grandma and he was there with me when my cat who I loved very much passed away.
It became so normalized. But over time it became more and more clear how dysfunctional the relationship was.
The relationship slowly morphed into more and more fights. My BPD went from being triggered around him rarely, to being triggered constantly. I had huge episodes around him where he would just ignore me, leave the room to let me suffer and panic and break down by myself, and just overall not respond properly at all. If he did try to comfort me, the effort was shallow and he gave up very quickly. Admittedly, I sometimes became so uncontrollable in my episodes that I hit him a few times during the relationship. I'm not proud of that but he would always just take it from me and the most he'd do is say, "don't hit me" in an annoyed voice.
He never learned anything. We dated for a year and a half before we broke up. Throughout that year and a half, his responses to my breakdowns remained a constant, each time, even after having serious conversations with him about my mental state and giving him advice and tips on how he should respond accordingly when I become that way. (yes I have looked into therapy. I've gone through 8+ therapists and will try again).
He never treated me like a girlfriend but rather as a friend with benefits.
The fights would never end. I would cry and beg him to change certain habits, like sleeping in way too late, smoking way too much weed and tobacco, not showing me much affection, not washing his hair. Just lazy habits that over time began to piss me off. He would ALWAYS cry with me at the end of fights promising to change and yet he wouldn't. Each time. And my weak ass couldn't leave. I was way too attached. But I was going insane.
I realized after so long that I didn't actually love him at all, and I was only with him out of fear that nobody else would want me or deal with me. He used to be an escape from my home life, he used to have me infatuated with him and obsessed with him. But he just became another problem to face. I didn't love him anymore, I don't think I ever truly did in my naive mind. He was constantly blaming me for my episodes and telling me to get help but he would be the cause of my episodes more than half the time. The entire relationship was so fucked up. I would legitimately go insane with the breakdowns I'd have, hitting my head against brick walls, pulling at my hair, screaming, crying. I experienced those episodes time and time again in part because of his actions towards me.
For example, he knew abandonment was a huge, giant, terrible fear of mine. Earlier on in the relationship, he left to a cottage trip without telling me and stayed a week while I was at home falling apart because he seemingly dropped off the face of earth and wouldn't respond to me. He refused to talk to me and only started picking up the phone at the end of his stay. That shit fucked me up. It doesn't sound that bad typed out but it was a punch to my gut.
Anyways. In June of this year, I found the proof that took the blinders off my eyes for good. I was on his phone, (in front of him, he let me go on it) and in the vault of my nudes, I found a sexual instagram text post. I immediately became suspicious and went to find instagram on his phone. It wasn't even downloaded. So I went to his browser, typed in "instagram" and it immediately came up as an often-used suggestion. Low and behold, he had made an entire fake account that he hid from me that he used SOLELY for looking at half naked IG models and pornographic stuff.
And he did all that when he had an entire vault of my own nudes. It was an encryption app called Keepsafe that requires a pass code to get in. That's where he kept all of the nudes I'd sent him, over 300 of them.
This guy was a porn addict from day 1 and hid it from me the entire time. He "used" to watch porn in VR. Pathetic.
When I found that shit, I IMMEDIATELY got up, told him to delete all my stuff off his phone, and left home. He tried yelling after me that he still loves me and I just screamed at him, bloody murder, that his ass did not love me when he was doing that shit behind my back.
After a few days I went to his house to make sure that app with my nudes on it was uninstalled off his phone. It was still on his phone, of course, so I made him uninstall it in front of me. He did. But I was still paranoid that if he reinstalled the app, the photos would come back. So I made him reinstall it to show me.
A log in screen came up. He hastily said "see, look, it's gone, it's just a log in screen now" and then quickly put his phone away and didn't let me see it again.
I am almost certain he logged back in and still has my underage nudes on his phone.
A few weeks or days after that, he hand wrote me a letter which he managed to give to my brother when he saw him hanging out with his brother Bob.
This is the letter: https://imgur.com/a/bJANVKQ
Very creepy and poorly written.
I also found out after we broke up that he made a fake account to stalk me on instagram with after I blocked him. On that account, he was following several 16 year old girls (!!!) and some dirty porn type of profiles. He was also following ALMOST EVERY ACCOUNT THAT I WAS FOLLOWING. Including my new boyfriend. When I found out about that account, which he made under a fake name, I messaged it a lengthy paragraph informing it that I knew it was him and that I have notified the police of his predatory behavior, which isn't a lie - I did, in fact, call the police and open a case on him shortly after we broke up and I realized he was a pedo, basically.
Here is the message I wrote: https://imgur.com/a/f4Y6mlR
After I sent that message, he became unhinged and started harassing me.
He made 8+ fake accounts under fake names, one after the other. He started messaging me paragraphs about how fucked up I was, comparing me to my dad, telling me I was just like him the entire time, sending me articles about "BPD abuse", writing me huge text walls filled with poison. He would go on my reddit account and stalk that too. He also viewed my LINKED IN which I haven't used in years. He would send me quotes about "narcissists ghosting their victims", implying that I was a narcissist who was merely just ghosting him.
Here are some of the messages he sent me off his fake accounts: https://imgur.com/a/fKe7OON
After this stalking and harrassment begun, I got into contact with police again and updated them on the situation. It was a lengthy process of phone calls and submitting screenshots of evidence only to be fucking useless in the end.
All this creepy motherfucker got was a phone call from an officer telling him to stop harassing me. They told him that "if he continues then his actions could cross into the realm of criminal". What was NOT criminal about everything he did to me? From dating me in the first place, to stalking and harassing me the second he knew my rejection was finalized?
The cop just closed my case after talking to him on the phone.
I want justice. I want that shit off his phone gone. I want to KNOW that he does not have my underage lewd photos anymore.
My parents and brother, after the whole ordeal, after I realized how screwed up everything was, had an "I told you so" attitude about it toward me. My brother refuses to delete Todd off his social media because "it's very awkward and I don't want to see him again at Bob's house knowing I unadded him". I will forever hate that he's even sparing this piece of shit's feelings in any way after what I went through with him.
My new partner is amazing, honest, and kind. He is only 3 years older. He has shown me what a normal, loving relationship should look like and I haven't been aggressive to him in any way like I was with my ex. I am significantly better off mentally with my current partner.
My question is: what the fuck do I do? The police didn't give a shit, even when I told them he was PREDATORY and following 16 year old girls. They didn't search his phone after I said that I'm scared he still has my underage nudes on it. So who the hell will deal with him? Everyone in my life turned a blind eye to my fucked up "relationship" with him. I can't just let this go, I cannot let this piece of perverted shit go scott free with just a fucking phone call from police. Fuck the police.
I need advice. Please. Someone. Anyone.
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2020.10.27 16:40 15throw15away15 At 15 years old, I started talking to a 24 year old man. At 16, we started dating. He was 25. After leaving him at 18 years old, him being 27, I'm now realizing how screwed up it all was. I need some advice.

This is a long story. I've tried to sum it up as best as I can. But it's still long. I just want one person to read this at least. Just one. I'm leaving out some details because it would take up an entire book if I were to write everything out.
Important prefaces - my dad is a mentally and emotionally abusive narcissistic control freak who has messed me up big time over the years. I also have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and dropped out of school in 10th grade due to mental issues. I'm ALSO extremely, very against porn, not for religious reasons even, I'm an atheist. I just believe that a man should be 100% loyal to his woman, and not even look at other women in any way (and vice versa). Porn/sex work is also a very fucked up industry in general. Say what you want about that, that's not what I'm here to discuss anyways. It's not up for debate. But it's integral information.
That being said, I've had a lot of mental health issues starting from a very young age, stemming from my dad's mistreatment of me and from intense bullying at school, as well as other events that have occurred throughout my life - including being raped/sexually assaulted when I was 14.
I also started being very promiscuous way too early on. I got my first computer at 8 years old and found hardcore porn, which I got addicted to. From 8 to 14 I was addicted to porn and saw myself as an object. A young girl viewing porn is a much different perspective than that of a guys. I was way too sexual for a child. Part of the reason behind this was probably the issues I had with my father being distant and emotionally unavailable. (I'm 18 now and haven't watched porn in like 3 years or so. I hate it so much). Anyways.
When I was 15, I was very alone and very vulnerable. My brother, who is 6 years older than me, felt bad. I was friendless. So he started to bring me sometimes when he would go over to his friend's house to watch UFC fights, or whatever. We'll call this friend "Bob".
Whenever I'd go with my brother to Bob's house to hang out, there would be maybe 3-5 of his friends there collectively. It wasn't just him and Bob. His friends girlfriends would sometimes come along too, so I wasn't always the only girl in the room.
Bob and all of my brother's other friends were normal and never really gave a fuck about me. In fact most of his friends just kind of disregarded me and I would sit there and watch the TV quietly and smoke weed. (I started dabbling with weed at around 14, my brother smokes it too, so do his friends. It's always just helped me cope).
But this friend, Bob, had an older brother. We'll call him Todd. Keep in mind - when I was 15, my brother and his friends were all around 21-22 years old. Bob's brother, Todd, was 24 at the time.
Well, I happened to be there one day when Todd came down to chill with everyone for the first time. He didn't always come down, because he was a loner. He saw me and it seemed like he immediately took notice of me. He knew I was young, and knew I was the sibling of one of his brother's friends.
He started paying special attention to me. I remember him asking me what my favorite music was/what kind of music I listened to. I replied that I'd been listening to a lot of Soundgarden lately. He then played a Soundgarden music video on the computer. He would smile at me and look at me a lot.
After that, I'd keep coming to hang out, and I'd see him more and more. Eventually, I asked him for his snapchat. Yes, I was the one who did that, oddly enough. I was lonely, vulnerable, and in need of attention. This older man was giving me that attention, so I latched onto it and went out of my way to get his snapchat. He didn't protest. He added me back and started chatting with me from there.
I began sending him nudes. At 15 years old. He gladly accepted them and would tell me (actual quotes) that I'm "his little treasure", that I'm "juicy", and that he's "counting down the days until I turn 16". 16 is the age of consent here in Canada. I wish it fucking wasn't. My naive self reveled in the attention he gave me. I became very attached to this guy.
A couple months passed and eventually I started sneaking out late at night to go and hang out with Todd by myself. He worked the evening shift at a factory, and ended work at 11pm. I would sneak out at around 2-3am almost every night, walk to his house which was 5 minutes away, and hang out with him until 4 or 5 in the morning. Sometimes even 6. This obviously started messing my sleep schedule up a lot.
He let me smoke his weed and always gave me some to have. He started buying me cigarettes too, since I started mixing tobacco with weed when I'd smoke bongs (I quit tobacco since then, it's been over a year).
He never made a creepy move on me when I'd come and hang out. We would always hang out in this "smoking room" in his basement. It had a lock and everything. He could have done something but he didn't. It wasn't until a few weeks of hanging out with him like that, that I asked if he wanted to kiss me at the door when I was about to go home. He said yes and had this childish look on his face, like a kid in a candy store who was super giddy. I gave him a peck on the lips and then left. Yes, he let a 15 year old walk at night alone that late.
Note that this guy was a virgin at 24. Never even kissed a girl, I don't think. Meanwhile, I had lost my virginity at 14 with a guy my age and had more experience since then. I know, I know. I wish I hadn't done it that young.
After that kiss, we decided we were dating. It became apparent to Bob, my brother's friend, that I was hanging out with his older brother Todd. Bob was weirded out and concerned by that, so he went to my brother to let him know. My brother questioned me about it, but I managed to convince him nothing was wrong and that it was ok. I don't know how. Apparently, Todd had also contacted my brother telling him that he liked me or something to that effect, and my brother just told Todd that it's "her choice whether she dates you or not".
So we started dating. Next up was to try and convince my parents that it was ok. At first, they lightly tried telling me that it wasn't a good idea. However, I never once remember them sternly trying to explain to me the intentions of this older dude or why he wasn't what he seemed to be. They just sort of... barely tried to tell me it was not a great idea, and then gave up. Nobody talked to Todd himself, nobody went to Todd's parents. Everyone was just trying to tell a mentally unstable 15 year old that this older guy "wasn't a good idea", as if I had the capacity to listen and understand that I was being groomed and taken advantage of. Which they didn't even explicitly say.
Part of why they gave up was because me, having BPD and a plethora of attachment issues and daddy issues, would have HUGE episodes if anyone tried coming between me and Todd in the slightest. To the point where I was suicidal and saying I'd kill myself if I couldn't see him.
If my parents tried telling me not to sleep over at his house or something, I would go into a rage, into a panic, into chaos. I'd scream and cry and self harm. They came to a "deal" that I was allowed to sleep over at his house only once a week, and I took it. They eventually just accepted the relationship and didn't protest anymore. I would bring him over, I'd go over to his house, and everything was... "normal". My dad even said "you know what, I actually kinda like this guy" to my mom.
Before we started dating, I made sure to express my hatred of porn to Todd, and I expressed, crystal clear, that I expect a man to be 100% loyal and keep his eyes to me. I do the same thing when in a relationship. I'm just very monogamous. He agreed and assured me that he stopped watching porn altogether for me, and that he was only looking at the photos I'd send him. He had so many nudes of me saved on his phone. I was young and naive, so naturally I bought his lies of loyalty.
Anyways - I met his parents and he met mine. I would go to family gatherings with him and meet his relatives. He met my grandma and he was there with me when my cat who I loved very much passed away.
It became so normalized. But over time it became more and more clear how dysfunctional the relationship was.
The relationship slowly morphed into more and more fights. My BPD went from being triggered around him rarely, to being triggered constantly. I had huge episodes around him where he would just ignore me, leave the room to let me suffer and panic and break down by myself, and just overall not respond properly at all. If he did try to comfort me, the effort was shallow and he gave up very quickly. Admittedly, I sometimes became so uncontrollable in my episodes that I hit him a few times during the relationship. I'm not proud of that but he would always just take it from me and the most he'd do is say, "don't hit me" in an annoyed voice.
He never learned anything. We dated for a year and a half before we broke up. Throughout that year and a half, his responses to my breakdowns remained a constant, each time, even after having serious conversations with him about my mental state and giving him advice and tips on how he should respond accordingly when I become that way. (yes I have looked into therapy. I've gone through 8+ therapists and will try again).
He never treated me like a girlfriend but rather as a friend with benefits.
The fights would never end. I would cry and beg him to change certain habits, like sleeping in way too late, smoking way too much weed and tobacco, not showing me much affection, not washing his hair. Just lazy habits that over time began to piss me off. He would ALWAYS cry with me at the end of fights promising to change and yet he wouldn't. Each time. And my weak ass couldn't leave. I was way too attached. But I was going insane.
I realized after so long that I didn't actually love him at all, and I was only with him out of fear that nobody else would want me or deal with me. He used to be an escape from my home life, he used to have me infatuated with him and obsessed with him. But he just became another problem to face. I didn't love him anymore, I don't think I ever truly did in my naive mind. He was constantly blaming me for my episodes and telling me to get help but he would be the cause of my episodes more than half the time. The entire relationship was so fucked up. I would legitimately go insane with the breakdowns I'd have, hitting my head against brick walls, pulling at my hair, screaming, crying. I experienced those episodes time and time again in part because of his actions towards me.
For example, he knew abandonment was a huge, giant, terrible fear of mine. Earlier on in the relationship, he left to a cottage trip without telling me and stayed a week while I was at home falling apart because he seemingly dropped off the face of earth and wouldn't respond to me. He refused to talk to me and only started picking up the phone at the end of his stay. That shit fucked me up. It doesn't sound that bad typed out but it was a punch to my gut.
Anyways. In June of this year, I found the proof that took the blinders off my eyes for good. I was on his phone, (in front of him, he let me go on it) and in the vault of my nudes, I found a sexual instagram text post. I immediately became suspicious and went to find instagram on his phone. It wasn't even downloaded. So I went to his browser, typed in "instagram" and it immediately came up as an often-used suggestion. Low and behold, he had made an entire fake account that he hid from me that he used SOLELY for looking at half naked IG models and pornographic stuff.
And he did all that when he had an entire vault of my own nudes. It was an encryption app called Keepsafe that requires a pass code to get in. That's where he kept all of the nudes I'd sent him, over 300 of them.
This guy was a porn addict from day 1 and hid it from me the entire time. He "used" to watch porn in VR. Pathetic.
When I found that shit, I IMMEDIATELY got up, told him to delete all my stuff off his phone, and left home. He tried yelling after me that he still loves me and I just screamed at him, bloody murder, that his ass did not love me when he was doing that shit behind my back.
After a few days I went to his house to make sure that app with my nudes on it was uninstalled off his phone. It was still on his phone, of course, so I made him uninstall it in front of me. He did. But I was still paranoid that if he reinstalled the app, the photos would come back. So I made him reinstall it to show me.
A log in screen came up. He hastily said "see, look, it's gone, it's just a log in screen now" and then quickly put his phone away and didn't let me see it again.
I am almost certain he logged back in and still has my underage nudes on his phone.
A few weeks or days after that, he hand wrote me a letter which he managed to give to my brother when he saw him hanging out with his brother Bob.
This is the letter: https://imgur.com/a/bJANVKQ
Very creepy and poorly written.
I also found out after we broke up that he made a fake account to stalk me on instagram with after I blocked him. On that account, he was following several 16 year old girls (!!!) and some dirty porn type of profiles. He was also following ALMOST EVERY ACCOUNT THAT I WAS FOLLOWING. Including my new boyfriend. When I found out about that account, which he made under a fake name, I messaged it a lengthy paragraph informing it that I knew it was him and that I have notified the police of his predatory behavior, which isn't a lie - I did, in fact, call the police and open a case on him shortly after we broke up and I realized he was a pedo, basically.
Here is the message I wrote: https://imgur.com/a/f4Y6mlR
After I sent that message, he became unhinged and started harassing me.
He made 8+ fake accounts under fake names, one after the other. He started messaging me paragraphs about how fucked up I was, comparing me to my dad, telling me I was just like him the entire time, sending me articles about "BPD abuse", writing me huge text walls filled with poison. He would go on my reddit account and stalk that too. He also viewed my LINKED IN which I haven't used in years. He would send me quotes about "narcissists ghosting their victims", implying that I was a narcissist who was merely just ghosting him.
Here are some of the messages he sent me off his fake accounts: https://imgur.com/a/fKe7OON
After this stalking and harrassment begun, I got into contact with police again and updated them on the situation. It was a lengthy process of phone calls and submitting screenshots of evidence only to be fucking useless in the end.
All this creepy motherfucker got was a phone call from an officer telling him to stop harassing me. They told him that "if he continues then his actions could cross into the realm of criminal". What was NOT criminal about everything he did to me? From dating me in the first place, to stalking and harassing me the second he knew my rejection was finalized?
The cop just closed my case after talking to him on the phone.
I want justice. I want that shit off his phone gone. I want to KNOW that he does not have my underage lewd photos anymore.
My parents and brother, after the whole ordeal, after I realized how screwed up everything was, had an "I told you so" attitude about it toward me. My brother refuses to delete Todd off his social media because "it's very awkward and I don't want to see him again at Bob's house knowing I unadded him". I will forever hate that he's even sparing this piece of shit's feelings in any way after what I went through with him.
My new partner is amazing, honest, and kind. He is only 3 years older. He has shown me what a normal, loving relationship should look like and I haven't been aggressive to him in any way like I was with my ex. I am significantly better off mentally with my current partner.
My question is: what the fuck do I do? The police didn't give a shit, even when I told them he was PREDATORY and following 16 year old girls. They didn't search his phone after I said that I'm scared he still has my underage nudes on it. So who the hell will deal with him? Everyone in my life turned a blind eye to my fucked up "relationship" with him. I can't just let this go, I cannot let this piece of perverted shit go scott free with just a fucking phone call from police. Fuck the police.
I need advice. Please. Someone. Anyone.
submitted by 15throw15away15 to TwoXChromosomes [link] [comments]


2020.10.27 13:41 seekingadvice24 Home in mom naked

I began posting here in 2018, I don’t want to go into detail again about everything I have gone through with my husband and his addiction but if you want and have time you can look at my past posts and the first few sum it up.. my husband of almost 9 years hid and lied about his porn use/addiction for 7 years and during that time I knew something wasn’t right obviously, I knew we never had deep conversations, barely talked at all, and that he seemed so distant emotionally and mentally.. I wondered why there was no intimacy and no affection, and why he would sometimes turn me down like he didn’t know I was obviously trying to be intimate with him.. but in 2018 (after finding out about his addiction and how he hid the fact he had been paying for premium porn sites and watching it on a fake calculator app with a private browser and payed for it through PayPal so I would see it or notice it) I found out for months he had been posting and trading my naked body and sexual videos with other men online. This is something that made me instantly second guess all I’ve ever known and he was a complete stranger to me, I was scared of this person because I never thought he was capable of doing something so disgusting and disrespectful.. For a little background, I have battled depression and anxiety since I was 12/13 years old.. before all of this rocked my world I had hobbies, friends, I worked and made money even if it wasn’t near as much as he made but we had an agreement for me to be a stay at home mom, we have two little girls who are now 5 and 7.. his mom stayed home with him and his two brothers when he was growing up and was a “homemaker”, she cooked and cleaned and parented... and he made enough money to support us and made me feel he wanted me to be home.. my husband has fully acknowledged that he has an addiction and that he needs help and has gotten help several times in the last 2 years but the problem is that he makes all of these promises and gets serious about recovery work when he relapsed or screws up after slacking on recovery or putting it to the side, saying he knows he should have been doing all of these things to keep this from happening blah blah blah.. We see a sex addiction therapist every other Thursday (sometimes weekly), and every time he asks my husband if he has been doing well with prioritizing his daily reading/recovery work, he KNOWS what he should be doing and has every tool he needs to use but every time we go it’s the same thing... he hasn’t been doing shit. Last night when I asked him what was going on and to just be honest and tell me what is going through his mind and what is holding him back from recovery and making it a top priority and he proceeds to tell me that he feels like he has so much more responsibility that me, that he works so hard and pulls his weight and then some and that he doesn’t think I do the same, so he feels like one of the reasons he doesn’t do his recovery work is because he feels it isn’t fair that so much is expected of him and put on him and that if I did more every day to pull my own weight and kept up with everything and stayed busy that he would feel like it wasn’t so one sided...
I’m not going to lie to you, when all of this happened, the discovery, the Big Bang months later, the relapses, it destroyed me mentally, emotionally and physically.. I fight my own battle daily with depression and I was doing good, but after everything I lost myself, I was consumed with the pain and his addiction.. I put a lot of things off, I always felt tired and fatigued, I didn’t feel like cleaning all day and cooking home cooked meals every day... and I fully except I have slacked on those things and want to do better, but he thinks me blaming all he has done and the depression is just an excuse and I guess I am just confused because I realize I need to get it together and I am hard on myself for the things I’m not perfect on, but I do love him and our girls with all of my heart and I never mistreat them, I have stayed by his side through everything and have only wanted to save and repair our marriage and be a positive motivator for him and help him be the man he claims he wants to be now... please tell me what I should think or do when he says these things? Have you ever experienced similar? And is it gas lighting/blame shifting? Am I wrong? Is he wrong? Any advice is helpful.
submitted by seekingadvice24 to loveafterporn [link] [comments]


2020.10.27 01:55 subreddit_stats Naked mom in home

Period: 147.95 days
Submissions Comments
Total 956 76236
Rate (per day) 6.46 513.73
Unique Redditors 579 23347
Combined Score 2061549 1679173
Top Submitters' Top Submissions

  1. 85755 points, 1 submission: nixtxt
    1. NYPD drives around Harlem with their sirens on at 3am so people can't sleep. (85755 points, 5534 comments)
  2. 48417 points, 2 submissions: Defenestration_Diety
    1. Miami Police Officer charged after video emerges showing him kneeling on a pregnant womans neck, tasing her in the stomach twice. She miscarried shortly after. Officer lied in his report and fabricated events that never occured, charging her with Battery on an Officer and Felony Resisting. (48019 points, 1841 comments)
    2. California: Vallejo police kill unarmed 22-year-old, who was on his knees with his hands up (398 points, 18 comments)
  3. 41750 points, 11 submissions: princesshabibi
    1. Tulsa last night (12657 points, 635 comments)
    2. 87 people charged with felonies after Breonna Taylor protest at attorney general's house (9188 points, 352 comments)
    3. Sigh 😔 It’s still happening. (7324 points, 467 comments)
    4. Breonna Taylor’s Family Claims She Was Alive After Shooting but Given No Aid (4786 points, 123 comments)
    5. If you aren’t in LA you may not have heard of the case of Andrés Guardado, shot in the back for the crime of running from police. Today his family and friends were tear gassed while calling for justice. (3747 points, 108 comments)
    6. Shackles and filth: Hysterectomies are only part of a 'horror show' at a Georgia detention site, lawmakers find (1794 points, 64 comments)
    7. Deputies kill half-brother of black man found hanged in park after they say he opened fire (550 points, 35 comments)
    8. If they lose the license, they can’t just go to the next town over. (527 points, 9 comments)
    9. The Taxpayers, Not the Police, Will Pay Breonna Taylor’s Family $12 Million (512 points, 18 comments)
    10. Police In The U.S. Have Killed More Than 164 Black Citizens In 2020 (382 points, 25 comments)
  4. 41395 points, 1 submission: mal_solor
    1. Despite having a ticket to the event, Sheila Buck, a Tulsa resident, was arrested for wearing an “I can’t breathe” shirt. She was charged for trespassing despite having a ticket to the event. The Tulsa police have become a Trump’s personal lackeys. (41395 points, 1358 comments)
  5. 40716 points, 10 submissions: DankNerd97
    1. DC pigs when they think the cameras aren’t watching (12415 points, 465 comments)
    2. PSA: Police are now using more Geneva Banned Weapons, Please Make Sure Everyone Knows So They Don't End Up Deaf (10323 points, 633 comments)
    3. NYPD officers “sadistically” beat peaceful marchers protesting police brutality and the death of George Floyd during a city-approved “frenzy of organized violence” that left multiple people seriously injured, says a lawsuit filed Wednesday. (7050 points, 74 comments)
    4. Black Lives Matter Activist Hospitalized After Police Seen Kneeling On Her Neck (4507 points, 181 comments)
    5. Black man shot multiple times by Wisconsin police; video of incident sparks social media backlash, protests (2906 points, 226 comments)
    6. Newly released body cam footage of an Alameda County sheriff’s deputy who lied about being pushed first by the president of the Toronto Raptors (1664 points, 55 comments)
    7. Army sergeant says he's the one who shot a protester to death in Austin (1037 points, 89 comments)
    8. Police union will not ID officer in Australian TV crew attack (358 points, 23 comments)
    9. Louisville cop Brett Hankison fired for his role in Breonna Taylor fatal shooting (236 points, 26 comments)
    10. Rochester mayor suspends officers involved in Daniel Prude's death (220 points, 14 comments)
  6. 38052 points, 1 submission: jpardue20
    1. We found 85,000 cops who’ve been investigated for misconduct. Now you can read their records... a few bad apples? Seems like the whole orchard is rotten (38052 points, 826 comments)
  7. 34998 points, 12 submissions: teutonicnight99
    1. Portland “police” caught shouting “LEAVE NO EVIDENCE BEHIND” as they pick ammunition rounds up from the ground. Earlier in the protests, police were seen picking up tear gas canisters to hide how much they have been gassing protestors. (9565 points, 209 comments)
    2. A scene straight out of a dystopian movie from the Portland protests. Federal officers advance as they shoot at and gas protestors. (8630 points, 350 comments)
    3. What the fuck is wrong with the police officers in the US? (7086 points, 522 comments)
    4. A Navy vet asked federal officers in Portland to remember their oaths. Then they broke his hand. (6920 points, 204 comments)
    5. 'I can't breathe,' Oklahoma man tells police before dying. 'I don't care,' officer responds. (417 points, 8 comments)
    6. The Cop Who Quit Instead of Helping to Gentrify Atlanta: “It dawned on me that the entire system, the entire thing, was just a shitty mafia system.” (392 points, 9 comments)
    7. Policeman in Oregon flashing a white power sign at a Proud Boy (389 points, 90 comments)
    8. Unreleased Footage Gives an Inside Look At the Night Breonna Taylor Died (384 points, 49 comments)
    9. The Supreme Court invented qualified immunity. Now, a judge’s blistering opinion shows why it must go. (338 points, 7 comments)
    10. Sorry to Interrupt Your Friday, but Homeland Security is Disappearing American Citizens Off the Street | Law and Order, but Minus the Law. (311 points, 5 comments)
  8. 34873 points, 3 submissions: Gplock
    1. Here is a video of them slashing the tires. My hard earned money goes to these idiots (30110 points, 1098 comments)
    2. Y’all seen this right? It’s a great edit (4541 points, 141 comments)
    3. So sad (222 points, 32 comments)
  9. 34123 points, 24 submissions: Kujo17
    1. Yesterday NYPD literally chased protestors down in the streets, kettles them and violently arrested approximately 26 protestors. This is them attacking and arresting a minor for attempting to cross the street, on the way to a protest against ICE facilities (5830 points, 257 comments)
    2. Police in Richmond Virginia attacked the crowd again tonight as they have almost every night this week. You can hear one officer say "Grab somebody, get ahold of somebody" right before grabbing a random civilian standing there. They purposefully are inciting unrest- tonight was a full on Police Riot (5343 points, 158 comments)
    3. In Portland, OR last night- A Protest march formed eventually ending up at the Portland ICE building where they were met with "extreme force" from both PPD and DHS/Feds. Hours of tear gas, pepper bullets, & stun grenades launched at the crowd, many arrests have been reported. (4486 points, 261 comments)
    4. [Portland, OR] Portland Police violently make blanket mass- arrests only minutes after Saturday protest starts, "unlawful assembly" was never declared. (10/10/20) (3741 points, 173 comments)
    5. [Portland, Or] Federal officers have been attacking protesters again tonight. They shoot chemical weapons and impact munitions at protesters doing nothing but walking down the street saying the names of people killed by police. A woman on the megaphone implores people to film and share the video. (2515 points, 65 comments)
    6. [Social Media] @WyattReed13 " BREAKING: Washingtom DC Cops just smashed the windows out on the BLM van and arrested the occupants—right after clearing Black Lives Matter Plaza with gas + rubber-coated steel bullets, leaving multiple protesters serious injured" (2068 points, 114 comments)
    7. Federal Agents used toxic chemical smoke grenades and several different chemical dispersant gasses , some even expired, in Portland; Portland protesters report severe and lasting side effects from the chemical weapons used during Trump’s “Operation Diligent Valor.” (1661 points, 26 comments)
    8. Protest from east Portland, Or- on 9/7- after once again attacking the crowd police chase down people while heckling them. This police officer tells a protestor they're “hiding behind the press like a coward” (1052 points, 75 comments)
    9. Roderick Walker, who was beaten by Georgia Sheriff's deputies, says he 'feared for his life'. Walker, along with his family who were also present, was a paying customepassenger of a ride share vehicle and was brutally assaulted after the vehicle was stopped for a broken taillight (1041 points, 37 comments)
    10. [Los Angeles, CA] In response to celebrations by LA Laker's fans last night, huge numbers of police were deployed in an attempt to clear the crowds. In this clip an LAPD officer pushes a young man to the ground-clearly knocking him unconscious- then ignore that it even happened. (10/11/20) (777 points, 51 comments)
  10. 31047 points, 12 submissions: bbb33aaannn
    1. 6/14 Fort Wayne, IN Swat comes in to break up a small gathering for “illegal assembly” (13137 points, 1019 comments)
    2. Police block off sidewalks and start shooting at Protesters in San Diego (6955 points, 345 comments)
    3. 6/22 Compton, Ca Protestors chanting put your gun down meet with fire from non lethal weapons (2796 points, 198 comments)
    4. Chicago PD parks in front of a home where people standing on their property and sounds a siren (2499 points, 164 comments)
    5. Hospitalized Marine Corps veteran shot with rubber bullets by police at protest, ‘I had my hands up’ -May 30th, Fairfax District in Los Angels (1147 points, 59 comments)
    6. Bradford, OH 6/10 Three officers arrest a women for allegedly cursing as she walks and let her go when another citizen intervenes (1133 points, 130 comments)
    7. Huntsville, AL Woman documents herself struggling to leave after being shot 5 times while police yell at her to move faster (879 points, 46 comments)
    8. 6/6/20 Chapman Square, Portland, OR 1:00am Non violent protesters complying with officers attacked (653 points, 43 comments)
    9. Aurora CO During a vigil with live violinists for Elijah McClain at a park (545 points, 99 comments)
    10. Raleigh, NC- Flash bangs are fired at the owner of a bar named Ruby’s Deluxe where medics stationed also themselves (543 points, 35 comments)
  11. 30618 points, 5 submissions: ApartheidReddit
    1. The LAPD in a perfect display of systemic racism (20210 points, 548 comments)
    2. Several cops surrounded a Black man and fatally shot him in Lafayette, LA. He allegedly had a knife and was walking away from police when police shot him over ten times. (6686 points, 499 comments)
    3. Austin surgeons shocked by injuries protesters sustained by bean bag rounds (2987 points, 132 comments)
    4. This is Leslie Furcron, a grandmother shot in the face with a less-lethal munition during a BLM protest last month by La Mesa, CA police office Eric Knudson. She has lost her vision in one eye and now needs nursing assistance. (468 points, 10 comments)
    5. Riot Kitchen HQ just learned that our bus crew was arrested in broad daylight in #Kenosha today - kidnapped by feds in unmarked vans. We are currently trying to find our friends who were just there to feed people. [Video] (267 points, 6 comments)
  12. 30371 points, 1 submission: lickmydick609
    1. Cop who ‘threatened to shoot protesters through door of his home’ accidentally kills fellow police officer (30371 points, 1137 comments)
  13. 29501 points, 5 submissions: Diver_Driver
    1. Aurora Police Interrupt and Teargas Peaceful Violin Vigil to Honor Elijah McClain (15758 points, 503 comments)
    2. Off-duty officer in Trump hat relieved of official duties for threatening man in viral video (11056 points, 450 comments)
    3. ‘Please Don’t Let Me Die Back Here’: Aurora Police Video Released Of Woman Cuffed, Hogtied In Back Of Patrol Car (2186 points, 73 comments)
    4. SC Cop suspended after using racial slur. "I cant use it?!" (264 points, 23 comments)
    5. Buffalo Police Lieutenant Suspended After Caught On Camera Calling Bystander a "disrespectful little fing c" (237 points, 26 comments)
  14. 28466 points, 2 submissions: tokenblackguy90
    1. Police in Grand Rapids, Michigan spray a man directly in his face with pepper spray. ⁣ As he turns around, blinded, they fire a tear gas canister directly at his face from close range. ⁣ (26173 points, 1496 comments)
    2. Kenosha Wisconsin on 40th Nd 28th Ave 8/23/2020 (2293 points, 466 comments)
  15. 26732 points, 6 submissions: LazyDirector
    1. Last night, LAPD trapped protesters in a tunnel on both sides and shot them endlessly, without a dispersal order or an escape route offered. This video shows a citizen journalist being shot point blank with a shotgun even though he has his hands up. (9233 points, 622 comments)
    2. Cops assaulting BLM protesters, including a man in a wheelchair. This happened yesterday in Downtown Los Angeles. One of the people injured in by police even had a seizure. Meanwhile, complicit media reported the arrested individuals (including the wheelchair guy) ATTACKED LAPD. (9119 points, 692 comments)
    3. Police in Los Angeles County have been attacking the Free Press for two months. LAPD Is even on camera falsely claiming “there is no press corps.” Journalists in Los Angeles have been beaten, shot at, hospitalized, traumatized, antagonized, gassed, and almost run over. (4297 points, 132 comments)
    4. Things are heating up in LA. Sheriffs gassed, flashbanged, and unloaded less lethal rounds at protesters. No damaged property or anything like that. One protester was shot directly in the eye. (3581 points, 224 comments)
    5. LAPD stand-off with protesters during a Portland Solidarity march on 7/25. One officer completely loses his cool and opens fire on unarmed protesters, using his shotgun at point blank range. This guy doesn’t have the composure for this job. (293 points, 83 comments)
    6. Montage of increased violence in Los Angeles JUST this past week. This has been the most violent week against protesters since the beginning around George Floyd’s death. Tear gas, white supremacists working with cops, a trap in a tunnel, unprovoked shooting... its been chaos (209 points, 7 comments)
  16. 24052 points, 2 submissions: ItsJustATux
    1. Lyft Driver Pulled Over for Busted Tail Light, Black Passenger is Beaten and Choked Unconscious. (23807 points, 1741 comments)
    2. LAPD Force Woman From Her Home Totally Nude Because Her Brother Has A Warrant (245 points, 17 comments)
  17. 23621 points, 3 submissions: goldsrcmasterrace
    1. Elderly man pushed to the ground by police. Knocked unconscious and bleeding from ear. Police keep marching. (16216 points, 646 comments)
    2. “Seattle PD dragging mother out of her car while her 9 year old is in the backseat. Officer tells her she has “multiple counts of assaulting an officer. You assaulted me and you assaulted another officer” at a protest couple days ago. Cops are seeking revenge on protestors.” (7023 points, 519 comments)
    3. NYPD attacking people on their way home (382 points, 6 comments)
  18. 22885 points, 2 submissions: perpetually_unsynced
    1. An unarmed member of the press was dragged through the street by the LAPD, who wouldn’t render him aid, despite his cries of pain. (12068 points, 594 comments)
    2. Breonna Taylor’s ex was offered a plea deal to say she was part of a ‘crime syndicate,’ family’s attorney says (10817 points, 206 comments)
  19. 22283 points, 17 submissions: Hyasfuq
    1. This is sad BLM (6601 points, 209 comments)
    2. PLEASE LET OTHERS SEE THIS: This guy did not flinch, move, cry, or gasp. Austin, TX. In front of APD. Judging by the boots probably former Marine (3035 points, 134 comments)
    3. Cops Pepper Sprayed THEIR OWN Senator Without Realizing he's an Authority Figure (2770 points, 58 comments)
    4. Seattle cop driving an unmarked car on the sidewalk and calling protesters cockroaches (2194 points, 100 comments)
    5. I-Team: Evans Police have history of brutality allegations, settlements (1007 points, 27 comments)
    6. Clayton County Deputy Fired For Holding Gun Under Chin Of Arrestee (1006 points, 36 comments)
    7. The Breonna Taylor juror's statement is very damning: Roberto Aram Ferdman on Twitter (973 points, 53 comments)
    8. Couple celebrating birthday beaten, Tased by California police (742 points, 67 comments)
    9. Undercover police officer preparing to cause a riot (739 points, 46 comments)
    10. Colorado Springs Officer Keith Wrede Used Fake Name To Post Comments About Protesters: 'Kill Them All' (651 points, 25 comments)
  20. 21759 points, 4 submissions: NoTrickWick
    1. Cops dox city council member leading to home being burgled and neighbor raped. (18901 points, 746 comments)
    2. These protests took place on June 2nd in Dallas, Texas. This is utterly disgusting to watch. Peaceful protests turn violent by the actions taken by the police. If you are protesting anywhere around the world, please stay safe and keep fighting. (1332 points, 71 comments)
    3. Police vehicle encounters protestors blocking traffic, calls police dispatch. Police dispatch: "Run them over. Shoot those mother fuckers." Officer responded, "dont put that over the air." (848 points, 32 comments)
    4. Louisville police showing off their oppression (678 points, 83 comments)
  21. 20823 points, 9 submissions: Projectrage
    1. Cops intentionally not stopping right wing extremists with guns. OPB: Man who pulled gun at Portland protest returns armed at Gresham event (6460 points, 241 comments)
    2. Police charge after dispersing protesters and shove a woman to the ground for no reason. (6316 points, 201 comments)
    3. Two DHS Officials Just Admitted Their Troops Have Been Violating the Constitution (3418 points, 96 comments)
    4. Portland police officer drives motorcycle into protester at Friday night demonstration (2260 points, 118 comments)
    5. Federal judge warned DHS would lose immunity if targeting a journalist. They did last night. (723 points, 34 comments)
    6. More evidence feds are aiming at heads: Deep hole in protester's helmet (479 points, 23 comments)
    7. President Trump Has Reenergized Portland’s Protests A "wall of moms" confront federal police in downtown Portland (435 points, 7 comments)
    8. Testimony of a Portlanders kidnapped by DHS Stormtroopers last night. (382 points, 21 comments)
    9. Federal Officers Appear to Be Using Rental Cars from Enterprise to Snatch Portland Protesters (350 points, 13 comments)
  22. 20341 points, 1 submission: Nawpo
    1. [Portland] 7/11/2020 Protester shot by impact munition last night. [graphic] (20341 points, 1824 comments)
  23. 19891 points, 14 submissions: quantumcipher
    1. "Police Kneeled With Me, Then They Drew Their Guns" - Across the country, the TV news has shown footage of police kneeling, hugging and marching with demonstrators against police violence. Unfortunately, police often behave far differently once the cameras are off. (7198 points, 155 comments)
    2. In five days, LAPD and LASD have brutalized and arrested 4 journalists who were documenting police activity. Three of the journalists were injured by police violence; two required hospitalization. LASD also assaulted lawyers from the @NLG_LosAngeles during a press conference. (5067 points, 144 comments)
    3. Prosecutor says cops did nothing wrong when arresting N.J. reporter who repeatedly told them, ‘I’m a reporter’ (1660 points, 26 comments)
    4. At least 125 press freedom violations reported over 3 days of U.S. protests (1642 points, 37 comments)
    5. "Seattle Police. Told us to disperse, but then mobilized bike cops to block exits. Forced us through gas, mace, flashbangs." (783 points, 36 comments)
    6. Portland Mom Says She Was Groped & Assaulted by Feds During Protest Arrest (667 points, 37 comments)
    7. Seattle officer who ran over man's head with bicycle facing criminal probe (549 points, 19 comments)
    8. Federal lawsuit calls Jacksonville protesters’ arrests illegal and violent (479 points, 4 comments)
    9. NYPD Releases Protester After Brutally Shoving Her Into Unmarked Van (394 points, 60 comments)
    10. Protesters and Lawmakers Are Concerned About the Effects of Expired Tear Gas: Local police and federal officers in Portland appear to have used expired munitions during the city’s nightly downtown protests, exposing protesters to a range of potentially dangerous and under-researched health effects (390 points, 9 comments)
  24. 19311 points, 1 submission: blackholevoyager
    1. He didn’t comply, he got back in his car, he threatened to kill an officer and wasn’t shot. (19311 points, 1225 comments)
  25. 19271 points, 2 submissions: thedavidcarney
    1. Absolute unit takes a beating standing up. Portland, 7/19 (18396 points, 623 comments)
    2. Police just tasered this protester in Bay Ridge Brooklyn (875 points, 75 comments)
  26. 19017 points, 1 submission: Instigator_____
    1. Philadelphia DA will criminally charge federal agents who "unlawfully assault" or "kidnap" Black Lives Matter protesters: "Anyone, including federal law enforcement, who unlawfully assaults and kidnaps people will face criminal charges from my office. At trial, they will face a Philadelphia jury." (19017 points, 452 comments)
  27. 18612 points, 9 submissions: bjorn1978_2
    1. “I’ll show you what f***ing freedom of speech is!” (7007 points, 304 comments)
    2. My Tires!! (4423 points, 312 comments)
    3. Hogtied black woman begged for help in police cruiser (2627 points, 101 comments)
    4. People playing music and dancing so cops tear gas them. (1848 points, 154 comments)
    5. Seattle PD hit a 21 year old female directly in the chest with a stun grenade. (952 points, 39 comments)
    6. Fed using his sneak attack skill in Portland (870 points, 75 comments)
    7. Minneapolis Police Attempt to Arrest A Man For Talking Then Shoot At Him In The Back With Less Lethal Munitions (346 points, 31 comments)
    8. Cop grabs kid from the throat and pins him down for Resisting Arrest (308 points, 45 comments)
    9. This can happen to anyone, Be careful, please (231 points, 25 comments)
  28. 17447 points, 1 submission: ClickingGeek
    1. Story in comments: Cop (Brian O'Quinn) stalked Rosalinda on and off for 9 years and then raped her in her home. Recently, another cop from the same department sexually assaulted her in broad daylight as she repeatedly demanded a female officer. (17447 points, 808 comments)
Top Commenters
  1. ItsJustATux (9924 points, 59 comments)
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  5. Hundewu (5684 points, 1 comment)
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2020.10.27 01:06 OnceMoreWithAndroids In home mom naked

Hmmmm....
I flip through the menu and select "inventory." It lists the current contents of my pockets: lint, a paperclip, two pennies, and a wallet (which has ten dollars, two credit cards, and a driver's license). It also notes I have one worn t-shirt, one faded pair of jeans, and one ratty pair of sneakers.
I hardly think they're ratty.
I flip to the next screen, "Stats." Seven points in dexterity, eight points in wisdom, nine points in constitution, six in charisma, ten in strength, and only three points in intelligence.
I blame my parents for making intelligence my dump stat.
I scan the next screen, "party." Mom, Dad, Sadie (my girlfriend), and Baxter (my dog).
Hmmmm....
I swap out Sadie for Maxine, my coworker who also teaches yoga in her spare time. What? Her stats are way better than Sadie's. This is just about optimization, nothing personal.
There's a map screen, too. I find a cheap bar nearby that I've never been to that sells pumpkin ale that raises my health by two points. I head there, grab a table, and have a drink while I keep flipping through the inventory.
It's amazing. The pumpkin ale really does make me feel better, and what the heck--I take my remaining points in intelligence and allocate them to dexterity, constitution, and charisma. Maxine has been texting me all night and I have to be prepared for this "boss battle."
Speaking of which, I'd better save.
My life flashes before my eyes. This moment is crystallized in my brain.
Just before I get up to go home to Maxine, I notice the last tab. "Main menu."
I click on it.
The bar goes dark and gets quiet. It's still there, but less real, like I'm looking through frosted glass.
"New Game. Load Game. Options. Exit Game."
Exit game?
What's outside the game?
My cursor clicks down the list. I highlight "Exit Game."
I made a save point, didn't I? It can't hurt to look.
I tap the select button.
The bar disappears. My body disappears. The world is dark, except for a pulsing red light above my head. I'm floating in a glass cylinder. My naked body--what's left of it-- is hooked to a hundred thick cables and plastic tubes.
And I remember the accident. And Mom, and Dad, and Sadie, who weren't as lucky as me.
I close my eyes.
"Start Game."
submitted by OnceMoreWithAndroids to oncemorewithandroids [link] [comments]


2020.10.27 00:38 imnotvibingchief Naked mom in home

I used to be very skeptical of the whole “spiritual” phenomenon, up until last year when I learned about my spiritual abilities. I was always raised to be a Christian, and whenever I found myself questioning the belief system (which was quite often), I just ignore it and assumed I knew no more than anyone else. Even so, after discovering my psychic abilities, I didn’t necessarily believe in aliens, ufo’s or any of those shenanigans. But now there’s no doubt in my mind.
This story actually takes place not too long ago, early October of this year (2020, if anyone’s reading this in the future). I was on a vacation to California with my mom, and we were going to visit one of her friends, who just so happens to also be an empath. I was actually really excited, because, where I’m from, people “like me” aren’t exactly common. I’ve never actually met someone outside of psychic shops who’s seen what I had, and hearing that this lady has, I was bouncing on my heels in anticipation to meet her. I go to her house, and we talk for a little while, me being the introvert I am, I mostly just listen to their conversation in amusement and observe her aura so I can get a good sense of who she is as a person (i have trust issues, so I like to observe people).
She soon offers we take a walk around her neighborhood, which I very quickly agree to do. I put on my shoes, and basically skip outside, because let me just tell you, it was absolutely BEAUTIFUL! It was October 1st, so the moon was full, and, contradictory to most psychics, my energy is actually restored in full moons, but most people talk about how their energy is drained on full moons.
We’re walking around, having a nice time outside, and my senses are just completely expanded. My hearing is better, my eyesight is better, and I was actually a little freaked out at hearing all of the animals scurrying in the bushes who were oh so very obviously following us. It was very beautiful. Secluded, literally NO people, a delicate, gentle, cool breeze. I love winds, they’re like a hug from the universe. Eventually, we have to go back to the house, and this is where shit starts to get weird.
So my little “psychic alarm sense” starts going off. Very faintly, like, it was telling me something was there, but we weren’t in danger. I’m a very anxious person, so I simply ignored it, but then I turned around and I saw a person walk by. It was very quick, very brief, and me, being curious as I am, I started looking around the area where I saw the figure. My mom and her friend notice this and ask me what I’m doing. And I turn to them and say “Who’s your boyfriend? Or, uh- not that i’m assuming you two are a couple, just, who was that person?” and they both give me a creeped out look, and I feel enticed to explain. “Well! I just saw someone walk by. He was very tall-“ and then I began to remember the physical details about him and realized they weren’t like a humans. He was about 5”10, maybe 6”0 tall, and was completely grey. Almost like a dolphin grey? He was naked. You could make out details, but it was nothing grotesque. He didn’t have genitals or anything. Actually, he didn’t have facial features. Or hair. I described this to them and they turned pale, and started looking around the house to see if someone had broken in, but no one was there.
My mom looked at me like I was crazy. Nothing new. And I began to theorize that maybe the creature I saw was a demon? because the only time i’ve ever seen a spiritual physically manifest itself into a thing on the physical plain, it was a demon. But the other empath explained to me that maybe I saw an alien. She explained it to me in a joking matter, but it all clicked and my intuition told me she was right. And I’m sure now that I saw an alien in her home. My only question is, why was it there?
submitted by imnotvibingchief to ParanormalEncounters [link] [comments]


2020.10.26 22:26 Erutious Naked mom in home

When I was a kid, I had a mostly typical suburban childhood. White picket fences, crackerbox houses all the same, endless concrete for my friends and I to ride our bikes on, and the only "strangers" we saw were the occasional drifter or traveler that wandered through our town. My dad worked at the steel mill, my mom was a homemaker, and I remember afternoons off from school filled with bike rides, trips to the arcade, boy scout meetings, and, of course, exploring Stokes Woods that lay just off the secluded neighborhoods we all lived in.
Stokes Woods was where my friends and I had so many firsts.
It was the first bit of real freedom we had, spending summer days exploring, making maps, and setting up "camps" that would be found again later to our great amusement. It was our first brush with death, finding birds or animal carcasses on the trail. We poked them with sticks and ooo' ed, never guessing that one day we might share their fate. I was in the woods the first time I swore, yelling "Damn it!" as I skinned my knee when I was eight. I was in the woods the first time I saw a naked woman, the glossy pages of Terry's dad's PlayBoy held gripped in my sweaty hand as we sat around a campfire when I was eleven. It hosted my first camping trip and was the first place I was allowed to camp alone; well, with Terry and Reggy at least.
It was also where we found the Tree House.
The Tree House was a relic of kids gone by. It was in a big old tree set into a clearing, a fire pit dug in its shadow, with a dumbwaiter to pull things up and rope ladder to climb up through a trap door. It had been built in pieces, and there was a wall inside with the signatures of kids who had added to it. When we came across it one afternoon, our nine-year-old eyes growing wide with wonder, we knew we had found something special. Over the next few weeks, we replaced the rope ladder, cleaned out the firepit, replaced the rope on the dumbwaiter after a disastrous incident that sent our stuff spilling twenty feet to the ground. We painted it too, finding some paint at the junkyard and painting the faded treasure in a wash of purples and browns and gold. We added a bike rack, again with wood from the junkyard, and the easy trip to and from the yard made me believe that the treehouse might have been constructed from things they found in the junkyard. We asked Old Man Macey, the caretaker, and he said that kid had been coming and going for years, taking stuff for a "project in the woods".
He was glad it had been put to such good use.
We had been playing and camping and using the treehouse for a couple of years when Terry suggested a Halloween sleepover.
"It's on a Friday. We can camp out in the treehouse, eat candy, and tell scary stories."
I thought it sounded like a great idea, and my parents agreed. This may sound weird to some of you, but the town we lived in was very rural, and crime was almost non-existent. Our town had a population of around twelve hundred. Besides the odd traveler that sometimes blew through, you knew your neighbors very well. We had camped in the woods for the last few years, and the boy scouts had taught all of us how to camp safely and not burn down the woods.
That night, we all hit the streets as soon as the lamps came on, pillowcases in hand, and embarked on a sweet journey. We had a theme, as we always did, and we were all dressed as Avengers when we went out to Trick or Treat. I was Hawkeye, bow slung over my shoulder and cheep mask covering my eyes, Reggy was the hulk, body painted green with absurd foam hulk hands on his real hands, and Terry was Captain America, his store-bought costume topped off by a trash can lid shield that he had painted a star on. We moved from house to house, striking poses and delighting adults as they filled our pillowcases with candy. By the time the porch lights started going out, we had bulging sacks ready to burst from candy. We stopped at our homes, dropping off a little excess candy and getting our camping stuff, and told our parents where we were going. My mom kissed me goodnight and told me to come straight home if there was an emergency.
And with that, we set off.
We walked the familiar trails into the woods, backpacks and bulging candy sacks weighing us down, and the night was lit by a full and ghostly moon. Terry and Reggy talked excitedly about the candy, wanting to tell ghost stories as we ate it, but I kept getting distracted. I could swear there was a noise out in the woods, a bird or a high pitched wind, and as we moved towards the treehouse, it seemed to follow us. The other two were oblivious, but the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
We came to the treehouse at long last, and in the light of the full moon, it looked ghostly and strange.
Once we were safe inside the treehouse, lanterns on and candy spilled onto the floor; I began to feel at ease. This was our sanctuary. Nothing bad could happen to us here. We were children who had yet to experience loss or real trauma, and we were secure in the knowledge that no matter how bad it got, our parents would still protect us from anything. We were foolish, but children are supposed to be foolish, I guess.
Reggy was halfway through one of the full-sized candy bars the Hudsons had been giving out when Terry suggested we start ghost stories. Terry loved scary stories, and he usually had a pretty good collection of them from the internet or wherever. Reggy pulled a beanbag chair over from a corner, and I drug a chair over so we could group up around the lantern. Normally, we would tell our stories around the fire pit, but I think we all sensed that tonight it was better to be inside.
Halloween was unique somehow, best to be inside after dark.
Terry brought the flashlight up under his chin, tilting the light nob down on the lantern, and grinned at us ghoulishly.
"This is a true story. I swear it on my life!" he said theatrically before beginning his story.
He told us a story about a kid plagued by the ghost of a hobo he and his friends had accidentally killed. They had been playing a trick on him, and he had choked to death on a sandwich. After he died, the boy kept seeing him around, in windows or on street corners, but his friends wouldn't believe him. Then, while the boys were at a sleepover, the ghost struck.
I found myself distracted as he told the story, though. The wind blew against our treehouse, creaking it in the branches of the old tree, but beneath the wind was a sound. A whistling was coming from outside, a high pitched keen that was not altogether tuneless. As I listened to it, it almost seemed to move through the surrounding trees as Terry wove his story.
Terry came to the climax of his story, the boy's friends dying badly, as he escaped the sleepover and ran back to his home. The ghostly hobo dogged his heels, screaming his name as he chased him through the quiet streets, and the boy had made it home and slammed the door in his rotting face. He had leaned against it, safe at last, but as the banging began, he remembered one important fact.
"His parents were gone," Terry said, grinning in the flashlight beam, "he might have made it home, but he was still at the mercy of the ghostly apparition."
Terry told us how the door had bowed inward, the ragged hands pushing the wood like wax paper, but I felt my attention dragged away again. I could still hear the whistling again, closer now, and I could swear there was another noise too. Rustling leaves, maybe, or leaves crackling underfoot. Was someone outside our treehouse?
"And as Patches pushed at his door, trying to catch him, the boy snuck out of his window and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again."
Terry seemed to notice then that I wasn't really paying attention.
"Oh, come on, that was a great story."
"Huh,? Yeah, sorry. Something was distracting me outside."
Reggy looked quizzically at me, "What was it?"
"I thought I heard someone outside moving around on the leaves."
Terry turned to look at the bare window, and Reggy walked over to look out into the inky blackness. The moon cast an odd light over his face, but as he scanned the ground, it gave away no sudden surprise. He shrugged his already broad shoulders and returned to his bean bag chair. He reached for a candy bar and started unwrapping the silver foil.
"Nothing there," he said after Terry, and I stared at him for a few seconds, "must have been the wind."
Terry began another story about a shadowy creature that lived in a stairwell, but as he laid out the narrative, I could hear the whistling again. It wormed into my consciousness, spinning through the trees outside like a drunken bird. I could hear the leaves crunching again, the wind making them rustle like skeletal windchimes, and suddenly I too wanted to go to the window and look into the night. I was trying to listen to Terry's story, but the more attention I tried to pay attention to it, the more I heard the noises from down below.
Terry looked miffed when I interrupted his story to go drag up the rope ladder.
I latched the hatch and came back to find him with his arms crossed and an indignant look on his face, "Think you can do a better story? Well then, hotshot, have at it."
He tossed the flashlight at me, and I caught it by reflex. I thought about it for a moment and realized that I did have a story I could tell. Maybe by getting it out, I could alleviate the fears that had been consuming me. I was ruining my Halloween campout for what? Some noise outside the treehouse? It was probably just a raccoon or something that had been spooked when we arrived.
My unease had given me the perfect story, though.
"So these three kids were walking in the woods. They were going camping and were going to a familiar spot in the woods to set up. They left their homes at dusk, wanting to camp out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. Their parents told them that if anything went wrong, they could come home and sleep there, but the boys had done this a hundred times and felt that they knew the woods like the back of their hands. They felt like nothing in the woods could surprise them."
"They were wrong."
Terry sneered, but he sat close to the lantern and listened nonetheless. Reggy opened another candy bar, the story drawing him in as the stories almost always did. Reggy didn't really seem to like scary things, he was kind of a scaredy-cat, but he liked the story. He would sit and listen, getting more and more terrified, but always beg for another when you were done. "They walked towards the determined campsite, talking animatedly about the smores they would make and the scary stories they would tell, but one of them kept hearing something as they walked. He heard the snap of a twig here, the crutch of a leaf here, and it made him warry. He told his friends, but they shrugged it off as nothing. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and animals were coming out to forage. They were probably just hearing animals moving around in the dry leaves. The two of them went back to walking, talking between themselves, but the third kept listening, kept looking over his shoulder to see what lay behind."
Terry and Reggy were paying attention, Terry a little begrudgingly, but Reggy's eyes were large and starry as he listened. And as I told the story, I almost thought I could hear the leaves crackling outside the treehouse. The wind in the trees rattled the dying year's foliage against the limbs, and a low whistle could again be heard outside. It was tuneless and wafting, and as it warbled across my sanity, I knew just what was stalking these kids through the woods.
"He kept asking them to listen, telling them it was important, but they wouldn't listen to him. They kept walking, kept talking, and all the while, the crushing of leaves and the rusting of limbs followed them, getting closer and closer. The boy became afraid, the steps sounded large, but he couldn't see anything in the trees as they proceeded down the trail. One of the others finally turned to him and yelled at him, telling him to stop being stupid and just enjoy the trip. There was nothing out there. No one but he could hear it. He was being stupid. He needed to relax." I paused for dramatic effect, seeing Terry roll his eyes at the description of the boy in the story.
"That's when they heard the whistling."
And I imagined I could still hear that whistling outside the treehouse. It was getting closer and closer as I told the story. Was the story drawing it in? Was I calling it to the treehouse? But by now, I couldn't stop myself. The story needed to be told, and I had become a conduit for it. I would tell it to the end, even if the whistler came right up the tree after us.
"They all froze when they heard the whistling. This was no wind through the bowes of a tree. This was a tuneless, monotonous whistling that cut across the dying afternoon like suckle through wheat. It was behind them, seemingly on the trail, and they could hear it getting closer and closer. They began to make their way towards the campsite, walking a little faster, but all three looked over their shoulder now. They were all made uneasy by that whistling, and they all wanted to put some distance between themselves and it."
My friends sat forward, hanging on my every word, entranced by this new development.
Outside, I imagined I could hear the whistling coming from just outside the clearing.
"They didn't talk anymore, they didn't laugh, and they didn't joke. They let their feet take them ever onward, but the whistling followed them. The friend who had insisted it was nothing said that maybe they should speed up a little bit. The campsite couldn't be far. Once they were there, they could take a side trail and get back to town. Or whatever it was would leave, and they could get back to their campout. The other two agreed, but all of them knew that the camp out was already canceled. None of them would sleep here tonight, not willingly. They sped up, but the whistling followed them, followed them steadily. One of them said they should stop and confront the whistler. He must be human; who else or what else could whistle? The other two shot him down, though. The whistling was discordant, jangling against their nerves, sounding like nothing they had ever heard before. Both agreed that they didn't want to find out what whistled like that and kept moving."
Something bumped the bottom of the tree, but my audience didn't seem to notice. It wasn't a hard bump. It didn't shiver the whole tree. It felt more like an inquisitive tap, a gentle knock. Someone trying to get our attention. I put it out of my mind, maybe the wind or something, and kept telling.
"They kept moving, deeper and deeper into the woods, all the time being chased by the whistling. They broke into a run, the campsite still not coming into view, and still, the whistling grew closer and louder. The whistling took on a life of its own, rising and falling as its chaotic tune became less and less discernible. The children put their hands over their ears, the noise scraping across their minds like a rusty scalpel. The hands would not block out the whistling, though. They heard it inside their heads as it battered their senses, and when the first one tripped, the other two did not stop to help him. They didn't hear his screams, but they felt a change when the whistling thing got him."
A night bird called out from the forest, but now, the whistling was in my own head, and I only registered it as something different.
I told the story frantically, hoping it would stop the whistling in my head somehow.
"They dropped their packs then and ran. They sprinted, flat out, knowing that the rail must be just up ahead. They would round the bend, and there it would be, it would be there as it always was, and they could cut back towards town. It never occurred to them that the creature could just cut through the forest after them. The trail to town had a talismanic effect on them. If they could make it, if they could walk it, they would be safe. They ran, they wept, but the whistling followed them on and on. Their feet crunched against the leaves and pine needles, sounding like gunfire, but they hardly noticed over the eerie whistling in their heads."
My two friends were leaning close now, the lantern making their faces look like Jack-o-lanterns as their eyes begged for the climax.
And still, that whistling assaulted me, threatening to drive me mad.
If they noticed it, they gave no indication. "When the second boy fell, the first never noticed. He ran and ran, trying to outdistance the whistling, trying to get it out of his head, and when his friend was found, the whistling again took on a different tone. The lone boy ran and ran, hoping to outdistance the crazed whistling, knowing that his fate would be the same as his friends. Some say he runs to this very day; some say the whistling got him in the end. No one knows for sure."
I heard the whistling abate a little. It didn't leave, but it did lighten slightly. I felt like crying as I came to the end of my story. Maybe I would be allowed to live where the boys had died.
The search parties found their backpacks two days later, animals having worried them to get at the food. They found the campsite bare, no fire having been lit in weeks, but of the boys, they found no sign. No trace was ever found of the boys, not a scrap of clothing, not a footprint. They were never seen again, but the children in the area say that you can hear the whistling in the woods on quiet nights, and on those nights, it is best to stay indoors. The whistling takes all who venture too close, and the whistling will haunt you for the rest of your life, however long that is."
That was when the whistling stopped. It stopped so abruptly that I wondered if it had ever been there at all. For a ten-year-old to question his mental stability is a strange feeling, but, at that moment, I was just glad it had passed me by. The other two shook off their rapture, looking as though they had been hypnotized, and Terry blew out a long breath.
"Well, damn, that was a good story. I can't top that, and suddenly I'm feeling kind of tired."
"Yeah," Reggy said dreamily, "me too. I think maybe, we should go to bed."
I would have argued with them most nights, but tonight, I was as drained as the rest.
We laid out our sleeping bags and burrowed down, dropping off quickly without the usual talk that proceeds it.
I'd like to tell you that this is where the story ends.
I wish I could.
But that wouldn't be doing justice to the memory of my friends.
I awoke in the wee hours of the morning when someone threw a pillow at me. It was not thrown playfully. The throw was hard, angry, and directed at my face. I sat up, rubbing my cheek, and became aware of the keening whistle that had returned. It was louder than ever, and it chilled me to the bone.
"For God Sake, stop it!" Terry yelled, staring daggers at me, "Your story was good, we all said so, but trying to scare us with this stupid whistling isn't funny." I heard someone crying and looked over to see Reggy in the corner with his hands against his face. The whistling was loud and discordant, just as I had described it in my story, and it appeared that I wasn't the only one who could hear it now. Terry looked madder than I had ever seen him, and Reggy was clearly terrified after the story I had spun.
"It's not me, I swear," I told Terry.
He glared at me for a few seconds before realizing that I was right. He moved to the window, and I joined him, trying to see the source of the whistling. Most nights, we would have seen nothing in the inky darkness, but under the light of the full moon, the yard shadowy but visible. As we scanned the yard, we could see little. The firepit below, the logs we sat on as we toasted our marshmallows and weiners, the woodpile we had tarped against the rain.
I had almost decided to go check the other window when Terry gasped like a stepped-on cat.
I looked and saw a man in a long cloak step out of the tree line.
He was dressed in a dark gray cloak, a tall cowboy hat making him look almost seven feet tall as it poked for the skies, and the toes of pointy boots poked from beneath the cloak. The wind seemed loath to touch him, but by the way, he pulled the cloak around himself, you'd have thought he was freezing. I could see a pair of eyes reflect the moonlight as he looked up at us and thought he must be wearing glasses. Of him, we could see very little under the cloak, but he made me very uneasy.
The whistling seemed to be coming from beneath the cloak, and when it stopped, he began to speak, and I wished for the whistling again.
His voice was raspy, pinched, croaksome.
A dead mans pleading last words.
"I'm so cold, boys. Might I take shelter in your treehouse for the night?"
I shuddered, not knowing what to say.
Somehow, Terry found his voice.
"Go away. Our mothers told us not to talk with strangers, and we don't know you."
"Please, boys, kind boys. Didn't your mothers teach you hospitality? Let an old man come in out of the cold." he pleaded.
"No," Terry said and moved away from the window as though the man might somehow leap through the window. The man didn't yell, he didn't plead, he just sat on the log beneath our tree and continued to whistle. The jagged chords wafted up into the treehouse, and I saw Terry shudder as he began again. He picked up a boot that had been part of my costume and went to the window to throw it at the man. Terry sent it sailing but hissed when it didn't connect. As the whistling continued, he threw several other things, but the old man never seemed to be where he was aiming. Terry cussed loudly, reaching for the lamp. I wrapped my arms around it, begging him not to.
"It's all the light we have, Terry. Please!"
He tore it out of my arms, growling as it came free, and chucked it at the old man. It broke on the ground, shattering and fizzling with an electric pop, and the inside of the treehouse was darker for its passing. The whistling went on, though, the man never seemed to run out of breath. Reggy began to rock in the corner, sobbing loudly as the man whistled and whistled below. Terry screamed at him from the window, his rage never-ending, as I covered my ears and tried to keep the threads of my sanity together. It seemed to last for hours, for days, and as I sat with my eyes closed, I prayed it would end.
When I heard the floorboards creak, I opened my eyes.
I saw Reggy standing by the window, his foot already on the ledge.
"Reggy?" I breathed, half getting up, "What are you doing?"
Reggy looked back at me, snot runners creeping down his face. His naked face looks tortured, tears cutting lines down his dirty cheeks. He smiled gruesomely at me as he framed himself in the window, and i didn't have to ask what he intended to do. I tried to stop him, I pulled myself up from the floor to go to him, but it was already too late.
"I just want it to stop." he breathed before he threw himself out the window.
We never heard him hit the ground over the loud and terrible whistling.
Terry stormed over to the hatch and had unlatched it before I could throw myself across it.
"What are you doing?" I breathed.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm gonna go do something about this guy!"
"He's an adult, Terry. You can't do anything to him!" "Get out of my way. I'm going out there."
"He's scary, Terry. You shouldn't go out there, you'll end up like Reggy, you'll…"
Terry kicked me, sending waves of pain through my guts, and I rolled off the trap door. I heard him throw it open and toss the ladder down, descending in a shrieking rage as he made for the whistler. As scared as it had made Reggy, the whistling had made Terry a furious juggernaut. I drew myself up, my ribs hurting and hobbled to the trap door. I looked down before closing it and gasped in horror against my throbbing chest.
The man was at the bottom of the ladder. His face was still hidden by the cloak, his eyes a glittering twosome amidst the swirling dark void, and I could see thick red fluid around the collar of the cloak. He was two rungs up the ladder, temporarily frozen by my gaze, and I slammed the hatch and threw the lock a second before he slammed into it. I crawled away from the hatch, seeing it buck wildly and hearing him scream at me to open it. He cussed and howled like an animal, wanting to get in but stopped by the strong bolt some past child had installed on the sturdy hatch.
Maybe they had installed it to keep him out, I thought after.
My fear overtopped me at some point, and as I watched the door jump in its frame, I must have passed out.
When the banging woke me up, it was daylight, and I screamed loud enough to startle whoever had been banging.
"Easy kid, it's Sheriff Blaske. Are you okay?"
I dragged myself to the hatch, my ribs aching, and threw the bolt before falling back, panting. If it was the whistler, I hoped he was quick, at least. My ribs would turn out to be broken, and their healing would encompass two of the worst months of my life. Every time I breathed in, I was reminded of the whistler and that last encounter with Terry. At that moment, though, I didn't care what happened. I just wanted it to end.
Sheriff Blaske pushed the flap open, and I guessed I'd get to live another day.
He took me to the hospital. He took me to the waiting arms of my parents, who pulled me into the warm embrace of their arms and threatened to never let go. I had been missing for two days, they told me, and when the police had seen the state of our treehouse, they feared the worst. They never found any sign of Terry or Reggy. I told them what had happened. I told them about the whistling man, about Reggy's fall, and Terry charging from the treehouse to attack him. I told them about how I'd locked the trap door and passed out as I watched the man try to batter his way in.
That was eight years ago.
I've seen that night in my dreams every night since. The events live on in my memories in living color, and I often wake up screaming as the man tries to break the hatch open. In my dreams, I don't pass out. In my dreams, the hatch doesn't hold. In my dreams, I wake up as he wraps his hands around my throat and drags me towards that pitch-black maw he hides behind the coat. I haven't been back to the forest since that day, and I don't think I ever will.
Lately, though, I've been hearing the whistling as I lie in bed at night. I look out the window, my backyard butting up to the woods, and see two small figures hovering on the outskirts. Sometimes the man in the coat is there too, but I know better than to try and tell my parents. All of them are gone when they get there, and I just end up looking crazy. I leave for college next week, and I've chosen one in the middle of a big city. I planned to attend it because the closest collection of more than four trees is sixty miles from my dorm. I'm hoping that distance will stop these apparitions, but I don't know.
I can hear the whistling now, even as I write this. I can hear my dead friends' soft calls as they entice me to come out and play. I can hear that whistling as it scrapes against my nerves yet again. I hear it, and I hope that I get to leave for college before it becomes too much to bear.
Before, it calls me back to the treehouse once more.
submitted by Erutious to SignalHorrorFiction [link] [comments]


2020.10.26 22:24 Erutious Naked mom in home

When I was a kid, I had a mostly typical suburban childhood. White picket fences, crackerbox houses all the same, endless concrete for my friends and I to ride our bikes on, and the only "strangers" we saw were the occasional drifter or traveler that wandered through our town. My dad worked at the steel mill, my mom was a homemaker, and I remember afternoons off from school filled with bike rides, trips to the arcade, boy scout meetings, and, of course, exploring Stokes Woods that lay just off the secluded neighborhoods we all lived in.
Stokes Woods was where my friends and I had so many firsts.
It was the first bit of real freedom we had, spending summer days exploring, making maps, and setting up "camps" that would be found again later to our great amusement. It was our first brush with death, finding birds or animal carcasses on the trail. We poked them with sticks and ooo' ed, never guessing that one day we might share their fate. I was in the woods the first time I swore, yelling "Damn it!" as I skinned my knee when I was eight. I was in the woods the first time I saw a naked woman, the glossy pages of Terry's dad's PlayBoy held gripped in my sweaty hand as we sat around a campfire when I was eleven. It hosted my first camping trip and was the first place I was allowed to camp alone; well, with Terry and Reggy at least.
It was also where we found the Tree House.
The Tree House was a relic of kids gone by. It was in a big old tree set into a clearing, a fire pit dug in its shadow, with a dumbwaiter to pull things up and rope ladder to climb up through a trap door. It had been built in pieces, and there was a wall inside with the signatures of kids who had added to it. When we came across it one afternoon, our nine-year-old eyes growing wide with wonder, we knew we had found something special. Over the next few weeks, we replaced the rope ladder, cleaned out the firepit, replaced the rope on the dumbwaiter after a disastrous incident that sent our stuff spilling twenty feet to the ground. We painted it too, finding some paint at the junkyard and painting the faded treasure in a wash of purples and browns and gold. We added a bike rack, again with wood from the junkyard, and the easy trip to and from the yard made me believe that the treehouse might have been constructed from things they found in the junkyard. We asked Old Man Macey, the caretaker, and he said that kid had been coming and going for years, taking stuff for a "project in the woods".
He was glad it had been put to such good use.
We had been playing and camping and using the treehouse for a couple of years when Terry suggested a Halloween sleepover.
"It's on a Friday. We can camp out in the treehouse, eat candy, and tell scary stories."
I thought it sounded like a great idea, and my parents agreed. This may sound weird to some of you, but the town we lived in was very rural, and crime was almost non-existent. Our town had a population of around twelve hundred. Besides the odd traveler that sometimes blew through, you knew your neighbors very well. We had camped in the woods for the last few years, and the boy scouts had taught all of us how to camp safely and not burn down the woods.
That night, we all hit the streets as soon as the lamps came on, pillowcases in hand, and embarked on a sweet journey. We had a theme, as we always did, and we were all dressed as Avengers when we went out to Trick or Treat. I was Hawkeye, bow slung over my shoulder and cheep mask covering my eyes, Reggy was the hulk, body painted green with absurd foam hulk hands on his real hands, and Terry was Captain America, his store-bought costume topped off by a trash can lid shield that he had painted a star on. We moved from house to house, striking poses and delighting adults as they filled our pillowcases with candy. By the time the porch lights started going out, we had bulging sacks ready to burst from candy. We stopped at our homes, dropping off a little excess candy and getting our camping stuff, and told our parents where we were going. My mom kissed me goodnight and told me to come straight home if there was an emergency.
And with that, we set off.
We walked the familiar trails into the woods, backpacks and bulging candy sacks weighing us down, and the night was lit by a full and ghostly moon. Terry and Reggy talked excitedly about the candy, wanting to tell ghost stories as we ate it, but I kept getting distracted. I could swear there was a noise out in the woods, a bird or a high pitched wind, and as we moved towards the treehouse, it seemed to follow us. The other two were oblivious, but the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
We came to the treehouse at long last, and in the light of the full moon, it looked ghostly and strange.
Once we were safe inside the treehouse, lanterns on and candy spilled onto the floor; I began to feel at ease. This was our sanctuary. Nothing bad could happen to us here. We were children who had yet to experience loss or real trauma, and we were secure in the knowledge that no matter how bad it got, our parents would still protect us from anything. We were foolish, but children are supposed to be foolish, I guess.
Reggy was halfway through one of the full-sized candy bars the Hudsons had been giving out when Terry suggested we start ghost stories. Terry loved scary stories, and he usually had a pretty good collection of them from the internet or wherever. Reggy pulled a beanbag chair over from a corner, and I drug a chair over so we could group up around the lantern. Normally, we would tell our stories around the fire pit, but I think we all sensed that tonight it was better to be inside.
Halloween was unique somehow, best to be inside after dark.
Terry brought the flashlight up under his chin, tilting the light nob down on the lantern, and grinned at us ghoulishly.
"This is a true story. I swear it on my life!" he said theatrically before beginning his story.
He told us a story about a kid plagued by the ghost of a hobo he and his friends had accidentally killed. They had been playing a trick on him, and he had choked to death on a sandwich. After he died, the boy kept seeing him around, in windows or on street corners, but his friends wouldn't believe him. Then, while the boys were at a sleepover, the ghost struck.
I found myself distracted as he told the story, though. The wind blew against our treehouse, creaking it in the branches of the old tree, but beneath the wind was a sound. A whistling was coming from outside, a high pitched keen that was not altogether tuneless. As I listened to it, it almost seemed to move through the surrounding trees as Terry wove his story.
Terry came to the climax of his story, the boy's friends dying badly, as he escaped the sleepover and ran back to his home. The ghostly hobo dogged his heels, screaming his name as he chased him through the quiet streets, and the boy had made it home and slammed the door in his rotting face. He had leaned against it, safe at last, but as the banging began, he remembered one important fact.
"His parents were gone," Terry said, grinning in the flashlight beam, "he might have made it home, but he was still at the mercy of the ghostly apparition."
Terry told us how the door had bowed inward, the ragged hands pushing the wood like wax paper, but I felt my attention dragged away again. I could still hear the whistling again, closer now, and I could swear there was another noise too. Rustling leaves, maybe, or leaves crackling underfoot. Was someone outside our treehouse?
"And as Patches pushed at his door, trying to catch him, the boy snuck out of his window and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again."
Terry seemed to notice then that I wasn't really paying attention.
"Oh, come on, that was a great story."
"Huh,? Yeah, sorry. Something was distracting me outside."
Reggy looked quizzically at me, "What was it?"
"I thought I heard someone outside moving around on the leaves."
Terry turned to look at the bare window, and Reggy walked over to look out into the inky blackness. The moon cast an odd light over his face, but as he scanned the ground, it gave away no sudden surprise. He shrugged his already broad shoulders and returned to his bean bag chair. He reached for a candy bar and started unwrapping the silver foil.
"Nothing there," he said after Terry, and I stared at him for a few seconds, "must have been the wind."
Terry began another story about a shadowy creature that lived in a stairwell, but as he laid out the narrative, I could hear the whistling again. It wormed into my consciousness, spinning through the trees outside like a drunken bird. I could hear the leaves crunching again, the wind making them rustle like skeletal windchimes, and suddenly I too wanted to go to the window and look into the night. I was trying to listen to Terry's story, but the more attention I tried to pay attention to it, the more I heard the noises from down below.
Terry looked miffed when I interrupted his story to go drag up the rope ladder.
I latched the hatch and came back to find him with his arms crossed and an indignant look on his face, "Think you can do a better story? Well then, hotshot, have at it."
He tossed the flashlight at me, and I caught it by reflex. I thought about it for a moment and realized that I did have a story I could tell. Maybe by getting it out, I could alleviate the fears that had been consuming me. I was ruining my Halloween campout for what? Some noise outside the treehouse? It was probably just a raccoon or something that had been spooked when we arrived.
My unease had given me the perfect story, though.
"So these three kids were walking in the woods. They were going camping and were going to a familiar spot in the woods to set up. They left their homes at dusk, wanting to camp out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. Their parents told them that if anything went wrong, they could come home and sleep there, but the boys had done this a hundred times and felt that they knew the woods like the back of their hands. They felt like nothing in the woods could surprise them."
"They were wrong."
Terry sneered, but he sat close to the lantern and listened nonetheless. Reggy opened another candy bar, the story drawing him in as the stories almost always did. Reggy didn't really seem to like scary things, he was kind of a scaredy-cat, but he liked the story. He would sit and listen, getting more and more terrified, but always beg for another when you were done. "They walked towards the determined campsite, talking animatedly about the smores they would make and the scary stories they would tell, but one of them kept hearing something as they walked. He heard the snap of a twig here, the crutch of a leaf here, and it made him warry. He told his friends, but they shrugged it off as nothing. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and animals were coming out to forage. They were probably just hearing animals moving around in the dry leaves. The two of them went back to walking, talking between themselves, but the third kept listening, kept looking over his shoulder to see what lay behind."
Terry and Reggy were paying attention, Terry a little begrudgingly, but Reggy's eyes were large and starry as he listened. And as I told the story, I almost thought I could hear the leaves crackling outside the treehouse. The wind in the trees rattled the dying year's foliage against the limbs, and a low whistle could again be heard outside. It was tuneless and wafting, and as it warbled across my sanity, I knew just what was stalking these kids through the woods.
"He kept asking them to listen, telling them it was important, but they wouldn't listen to him. They kept walking, kept talking, and all the while, the crushing of leaves and the rusting of limbs followed them, getting closer and closer. The boy became afraid, the steps sounded large, but he couldn't see anything in the trees as they proceeded down the trail. One of the others finally turned to him and yelled at him, telling him to stop being stupid and just enjoy the trip. There was nothing out there. No one but he could hear it. He was being stupid. He needed to relax." I paused for dramatic effect, seeing Terry roll his eyes at the description of the boy in the story.
"That's when they heard the whistling."
And I imagined I could still hear that whistling outside the treehouse. It was getting closer and closer as I told the story. Was the story drawing it in? Was I calling it to the treehouse? But by now, I couldn't stop myself. The story needed to be told, and I had become a conduit for it. I would tell it to the end, even if the whistler came right up the tree after us.
"They all froze when they heard the whistling. This was no wind through the bowes of a tree. This was a tuneless, monotonous whistling that cut across the dying afternoon like suckle through wheat. It was behind them, seemingly on the trail, and they could hear it getting closer and closer. They began to make their way towards the campsite, walking a little faster, but all three looked over their shoulder now. They were all made uneasy by that whistling, and they all wanted to put some distance between themselves and it."
My friends sat forward, hanging on my every word, entranced by this new development.
Outside, I imagined I could hear the whistling coming from just outside the clearing.
"They didn't talk anymore, they didn't laugh, and they didn't joke. They let their feet take them ever onward, but the whistling followed them. The friend who had insisted it was nothing said that maybe they should speed up a little bit. The campsite couldn't be far. Once they were there, they could take a side trail and get back to town. Or whatever it was would leave, and they could get back to their campout. The other two agreed, but all of them knew that the camp out was already canceled. None of them would sleep here tonight, not willingly. They sped up, but the whistling followed them, followed them steadily. One of them said they should stop and confront the whistler. He must be human; who else or what else could whistle? The other two shot him down, though. The whistling was discordant, jangling against their nerves, sounding like nothing they had ever heard before. Both agreed that they didn't want to find out what whistled like that and kept moving."
Something bumped the bottom of the tree, but my audience didn't seem to notice. It wasn't a hard bump. It didn't shiver the whole tree. It felt more like an inquisitive tap, a gentle knock. Someone trying to get our attention. I put it out of my mind, maybe the wind or something, and kept telling.
"They kept moving, deeper and deeper into the woods, all the time being chased by the whistling. They broke into a run, the campsite still not coming into view, and still, the whistling grew closer and louder. The whistling took on a life of its own, rising and falling as its chaotic tune became less and less discernible. The children put their hands over their ears, the noise scraping across their minds like a rusty scalpel. The hands would not block out the whistling, though. They heard it inside their heads as it battered their senses, and when the first one tripped, the other two did not stop to help him. They didn't hear his screams, but they felt a change when the whistling thing got him."
A night bird called out from the forest, but now, the whistling was in my own head, and I only registered it as something different.
I told the story frantically, hoping it would stop the whistling in my head somehow.
"They dropped their packs then and ran. They sprinted, flat out, knowing that the rail must be just up ahead. They would round the bend, and there it would be, it would be there as it always was, and they could cut back towards town. It never occurred to them that the creature could just cut through the forest after them. The trail to town had a talismanic effect on them. If they could make it, if they could walk it, they would be safe. They ran, they wept, but the whistling followed them on and on. Their feet crunched against the leaves and pine needles, sounding like gunfire, but they hardly noticed over the eerie whistling in their heads."
My two friends were leaning close now, the lantern making their faces look like Jack-o-lanterns as their eyes begged for the climax.
And still, that whistling assaulted me, threatening to drive me mad.
If they noticed it, they gave no indication. "When the second boy fell, the first never noticed. He ran and ran, trying to outdistance the whistling, trying to get it out of his head, and when his friend was found, the whistling again took on a different tone. The lone boy ran and ran, hoping to outdistance the crazed whistling, knowing that his fate would be the same as his friends. Some say he runs to this very day; some say the whistling got him in the end. No one knows for sure."
I heard the whistling abate a little. It didn't leave, but it did lighten slightly. I felt like crying as I came to the end of my story. Maybe I would be allowed to live where the boys had died.
The search parties found their backpacks two days later, animals having worried them to get at the food. They found the campsite bare, no fire having been lit in weeks, but of the boys, they found no sign. No trace was ever found of the boys, not a scrap of clothing, not a footprint. They were never seen again, but the children in the area say that you can hear the whistling in the woods on quiet nights, and on those nights, it is best to stay indoors. The whistling takes all who venture too close, and the whistling will haunt you for the rest of your life, however long that is."
That was when the whistling stopped. It stopped so abruptly that I wondered if it had ever been there at all. For a ten-year-old to question his mental stability is a strange feeling, but, at that moment, I was just glad it had passed me by. The other two shook off their rapture, looking as though they had been hypnotized, and Terry blew out a long breath.
"Well, damn, that was a good story. I can't top that, and suddenly I'm feeling kind of tired."
"Yeah," Reggy said dreamily, "me too. I think maybe, we should go to bed."
I would have argued with them most nights, but tonight, I was as drained as the rest.
We laid out our sleeping bags and burrowed down, dropping off quickly without the usual talk that proceeds it.
I'd like to tell you that this is where the story ends.
I wish I could.
But that wouldn't be doing justice to the memory of my friends.
I awoke in the wee hours of the morning when someone threw a pillow at me. It was not thrown playfully. The throw was hard, angry, and directed at my face. I sat up, rubbing my cheek, and became aware of the keening whistle that had returned. It was louder than ever, and it chilled me to the bone.
"For God Sake, stop it!" Terry yelled, staring daggers at me, "Your story was good, we all said so, but trying to scare us with this stupid whistling isn't funny." I heard someone crying and looked over to see Reggy in the corner with his hands against his face. The whistling was loud and discordant, just as I had described it in my story, and it appeared that I wasn't the only one who could hear it now. Terry looked madder than I had ever seen him, and Reggy was clearly terrified after the story I had spun.
"It's not me, I swear," I told Terry.
He glared at me for a few seconds before realizing that I was right. He moved to the window, and I joined him, trying to see the source of the whistling. Most nights, we would have seen nothing in the inky darkness, but under the light of the full moon, the yard shadowy but visible. As we scanned the yard, we could see little. The firepit below, the logs we sat on as we toasted our marshmallows and weiners, the woodpile we had tarped against the rain.
I had almost decided to go check the other window when Terry gasped like a stepped-on cat.
I looked and saw a man in a long cloak step out of the tree line.
He was dressed in a dark gray cloak, a tall cowboy hat making him look almost seven feet tall as it poked for the skies, and the toes of pointy boots poked from beneath the cloak. The wind seemed loath to touch him, but by the way, he pulled the cloak around himself, you'd have thought he was freezing. I could see a pair of eyes reflect the moonlight as he looked up at us and thought he must be wearing glasses. Of him, we could see very little under the cloak, but he made me very uneasy.
The whistling seemed to be coming from beneath the cloak, and when it stopped, he began to speak, and I wished for the whistling again.
His voice was raspy, pinched, croaksome.
A dead mans pleading last words.
"I'm so cold, boys. Might I take shelter in your treehouse for the night?"
I shuddered, not knowing what to say.
Somehow, Terry found his voice.
"Go away. Our mothers told us not to talk with strangers, and we don't know you."
"Please, boys, kind boys. Didn't your mothers teach you hospitality? Let an old man come in out of the cold." he pleaded.
"No," Terry said and moved away from the window as though the man might somehow leap through the window. The man didn't yell, he didn't plead, he just sat on the log beneath our tree and continued to whistle. The jagged chords wafted up into the treehouse, and I saw Terry shudder as he began again. He picked up a boot that had been part of my costume and went to the window to throw it at the man. Terry sent it sailing but hissed when it didn't connect. As the whistling continued, he threw several other things, but the old man never seemed to be where he was aiming. Terry cussed loudly, reaching for the lamp. I wrapped my arms around it, begging him not to.
"It's all the light we have, Terry. Please!"
He tore it out of my arms, growling as it came free, and chucked it at the old man. It broke on the ground, shattering and fizzling with an electric pop, and the inside of the treehouse was darker for its passing. The whistling went on, though, the man never seemed to run out of breath. Reggy began to rock in the corner, sobbing loudly as the man whistled and whistled below. Terry screamed at him from the window, his rage never-ending, as I covered my ears and tried to keep the threads of my sanity together. It seemed to last for hours, for days, and as I sat with my eyes closed, I prayed it would end.
When I heard the floorboards creak, I opened my eyes.
I saw Reggy standing by the window, his foot already on the ledge.
"Reggy?" I breathed, half getting up, "What are you doing?"
Reggy looked back at me, snot runners creeping down his face. His naked face looks tortured, tears cutting lines down his dirty cheeks. He smiled gruesomely at me as he framed himself in the window, and i didn't have to ask what he intended to do. I tried to stop him, I pulled myself up from the floor to go to him, but it was already too late.
"I just want it to stop." he breathed before he threw himself out the window.
We never heard him hit the ground over the loud and terrible whistling.
Terry stormed over to the hatch and had unlatched it before I could throw myself across it.
"What are you doing?" I breathed.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm gonna go do something about this guy!"
"He's an adult, Terry. You can't do anything to him!" "Get out of my way. I'm going out there."
"He's scary, Terry. You shouldn't go out there, you'll end up like Reggy, you'll…"
Terry kicked me, sending waves of pain through my guts, and I rolled off the trap door. I heard him throw it open and toss the ladder down, descending in a shrieking rage as he made for the whistler. As scared as it had made Reggy, the whistling had made Terry a furious juggernaut. I drew myself up, my ribs hurting and hobbled to the trap door. I looked down before closing it and gasped in horror against my throbbing chest.
The man was at the bottom of the ladder. His face was still hidden by the cloak, his eyes a glittering twosome amidst the swirling dark void, and I could see thick red fluid around the collar of the cloak. He was two rungs up the ladder, temporarily frozen by my gaze, and I slammed the hatch and threw the lock a second before he slammed into it. I crawled away from the hatch, seeing it buck wildly and hearing him scream at me to open it. He cussed and howled like an animal, wanting to get in but stopped by the strong bolt some past child had installed on the sturdy hatch.
Maybe they had installed it to keep him out, I thought after.
My fear overtopped me at some point, and as I watched the door jump in its frame, I must have passed out.
When the banging woke me up, it was daylight, and I screamed loud enough to startle whoever had been banging.
"Easy kid, it's Sheriff Blaske. Are you okay?"
I dragged myself to the hatch, my ribs aching, and threw the bolt before falling back, panting. If it was the whistler, I hoped he was quick, at least. My ribs would turn out to be broken, and their healing would encompass two of the worst months of my life. Every time I breathed in, I was reminded of the whistler and that last encounter with Terry. At that moment, though, I didn't care what happened. I just wanted it to end.
Sheriff Blaske pushed the flap open, and I guessed I'd get to live another day.
He took me to the hospital. He took me to the waiting arms of my parents, who pulled me into the warm embrace of their arms and threatened to never let go. I had been missing for two days, they told me, and when the police had seen the state of our treehouse, they feared the worst. They never found any sign of Terry or Reggy. I told them what had happened. I told them about the whistling man, about Reggy's fall, and Terry charging from the treehouse to attack him. I told them about how I'd locked the trap door and passed out as I watched the man try to batter his way in. That was eight years ago.
I've seen that night in my dreams every night since. The events live on in my memories in living color, and I often wake up screaming as the man tries to break the hatch open. In my dreams, I don't pass out. In my dreams, the hatch doesn't hold. In my dreams, I wake up as he wraps his hands around my throat and drags me towards that pitch-black maw he hides behind the coat. I haven't been back to the forest since that day, and I don't think I ever will.
Lately, though, I've been hearing the whistling as I lie in bed at night. I look out the window, my backyard butting up to the woods, and see two small figures hovering on the outskirts. Sometimes the man in the coat is there too, but I know better than to try and tell my parents. All of them are gone when they get there, and I just end up looking crazy. I leave for college next week, and I've chosen one in the middle of a big city. I planned to attend it because the closest collection of more than four trees is sixty miles from my dorm. I'm hoping that distance will stop these apparitions, but I don't know.
I can hear the whistling now, even as I write this. I can hear my dead friends' soft calls as they entice me to come out and play. I can hear that whistling as it scrapes against my nerves yet again. I hear it, and I hope that I get to leave for college before it becomes too much to bear.
Before, it calls me back to the treehouse once more.
submitted by Erutious to Erutious [link] [comments]


2020.10.26 22:15 Erutious Naked mom in home

When I was a kid, I had a mostly typical suburban childhood. White picket fences, crackerbox houses all the same, endless concrete for my friends and I to ride our bikes on, and the only "strangers" we saw were the occasional drifter or traveler that wandered through our town. My dad worked at the steel mill, my mom was a homemaker, and I remember afternoons off from school filled with bike rides, trips to the arcade, boy scout meetings, and, of course, exploring Stokes Woods that lay just off the secluded neighborhoods we all lived in.
Stokes Woods was where my friends and I had so many firsts.
It was the first bit of real freedom we had, spending summer days exploring, making maps, and setting up "camps" that would be found again later to our great amusement. It was our first brush with death, finding birds or animal carcasses on the trail. We poked them with sticks and ooo' ed, never guessing that one day we might share their fate. I was in the woods the first time I swore, yelling "Damn it!" as I skinned my knee when I was eight. I was in the woods the first time I saw a naked woman, the glossy pages of Terry's dad's PlayBoy held gripped in my sweaty hand as we sat around a campfire when I was eleven. It hosted my first camping trip and was the first place I was allowed to camp alone; well, with Terry and Reggy at least.
It was also where we found the Tree House.
The Tree House was a relic of kids gone by. It was in a big old tree set into a clearing, a fire pit dug in its shadow, with a dumbwaiter to pull things up and rope ladder to climb up through a trap door. It had been built in pieces, and there was a wall inside with the signatures of kids who had added to it. When we came across it one afternoon, our nine-year-old eyes growing wide with wonder, we knew we had found something special. Over the next few weeks, we replaced the rope ladder, cleaned out the firepit, replaced the rope on the dumbwaiter after a disastrous incident that sent our stuff spilling twenty feet to the ground. We painted it too, finding some paint at the junkyard and painting the faded treasure in a wash of purples and browns and gold. We added a bike rack, again with wood from the junkyard, and the easy trip to and from the yard made me believe that the treehouse might have been constructed from things they found in the junkyard. We asked Old Man Macey, the caretaker, and he said that kid had been coming and going for years, taking stuff for a "project in the woods".
He was glad it had been put to such good use.
We had been playing and camping and using the treehouse for a couple of years when Terry suggested a Halloween sleepover.
"It's on a Friday. We can camp out in the treehouse, eat candy, and tell scary stories."
I thought it sounded like a great idea, and my parents agreed. This may sound weird to some of you, but the town we lived in was very rural, and crime was almost non-existent. Our town had a population of around twelve hundred. Besides the odd traveler that sometimes blew through, you knew your neighbors very well. We had camped in the woods for the last few years, and the boy scouts had taught all of us how to camp safely and not burn down the woods.
That night, we all hit the streets as soon as the lamps came on, pillowcases in hand, and embarked on a sweet journey. We had a theme, as we always did, and we were all dressed as Avengers when we went out to Trick or Treat. I was Hawkeye, bow slung over my shoulder and cheep mask covering my eyes, Reggy was the hulk, body painted green with absurd foam hulk hands on his real hands, and Terry was Captain America, his store-bought costume topped off by a trash can lid shield that he had painted a star on. We moved from house to house, striking poses and delighting adults as they filled our pillowcases with candy. By the time the porch lights started going out, we had bulging sacks ready to burst from candy. We stopped at our homes, dropping off a little excess candy and getting our camping stuff, and told our parents where we were going. My mom kissed me goodnight and told me to come straight home if there was an emergency.
And with that, we set off.
We walked the familiar trails into the woods, backpacks and bulging candy sacks weighing us down, and the night was lit by a full and ghostly moon. Terry and Reggy talked excitedly about the candy, wanting to tell ghost stories as we ate it, but I kept getting distracted. I could swear there was a noise out in the woods, a bird or a high pitched wind, and as we moved towards the treehouse, it seemed to follow us. The other two were oblivious, but the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
We came to the treehouse at long last, and in the light of the full moon, it looked ghostly and strange.
Once we were safe inside the treehouse, lanterns on and candy spilled onto the floor; I began to feel at ease. This was our sanctuary. Nothing bad could happen to us here. We were children who had yet to experience loss or real trauma, and we were secure in the knowledge that no matter how bad it got, our parents would still protect us from anything. We were foolish, but children are supposed to be foolish, I guess.
Reggy was halfway through one of the full-sized candy bars the Hudsons had been giving out when Terry suggested we start ghost stories. Terry loved scary stories, and he usually had a pretty good collection of them from the internet or wherever. Reggy pulled a beanbag chair over from a corner, and I drug a chair over so we could group up around the lantern. Normally, we would tell our stories around the fire pit, but I think we all sensed that tonight it was better to be inside.
Halloween was unique somehow, best to be inside after dark.
Terry brought the flashlight up under his chin, tilting the light nob down on the lantern, and grinned at us ghoulishly.
"This is a true story. I swear it on my life!" he said theatrically before beginning his story.
He told us a story about a kid plagued by the ghost of a hobo he and his friends had accidentally killed. They had been playing a trick on him, and he had choked to death on a sandwich. After he died, the boy kept seeing him around, in windows or on street corners, but his friends wouldn't believe him. Then, while the boys were at a sleepover, the ghost struck.
I found myself distracted as he told the story, though. The wind blew against our treehouse, creaking it in the branches of the old tree, but beneath the wind was a sound. A whistling was coming from outside, a high pitched keen that was not altogether tuneless. As I listened to it, it almost seemed to move through the surrounding trees as Terry wove his story.
Terry came to the climax of his story, the boy's friends dying badly, as he escaped the sleepover and ran back to his home. The ghostly hobo dogged his heels, screaming his name as he chased him through the quiet streets, and the boy had made it home and slammed the door in his rotting face. He had leaned against it, safe at last, but as the banging began, he remembered one important fact.
"His parents were gone," Terry said, grinning in the flashlight beam, "he might have made it home, but he was still at the mercy of the ghostly apparition."
Terry told us how the door had bowed inward, the ragged hands pushing the wood like wax paper, but I felt my attention dragged away again. I could still hear the whistling again, closer now, and I could swear there was another noise too. Rustling leaves, maybe, or leaves crackling underfoot. Was someone outside our treehouse?
"And as Patches pushed at his door, trying to catch him, the boy snuck out of his window and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again."
Terry seemed to notice then that I wasn't really paying attention.
"Oh, come on, that was a great story."
"Huh,? Yeah, sorry. Something was distracting me outside."
Reggy looked quizzically at me, "What was it?"
"I thought I heard someone outside moving around on the leaves."
Terry turned to look at the bare window, and Reggy walked over to look out into the inky blackness. The moon cast an odd light over his face, but as he scanned the ground, it gave away no sudden surprise. He shrugged his already broad shoulders and returned to his bean bag chair. He reached for a candy bar and started unwrapping the silver foil.
"Nothing there," he said after Terry, and I stared at him for a few seconds, "must have been the wind."
Terry began another story about a shadowy creature that lived in a stairwell, but as he laid out the narrative, I could hear the whistling again. It wormed into my consciousness, spinning through the trees outside like a drunken bird. I could hear the leaves crunching again, the wind making them rustle like skeletal windchimes, and suddenly I too wanted to go to the window and look into the night. I was trying to listen to Terry's story, but the more attention I tried to pay attention to it, the more I heard the noises from down below.
Terry looked miffed when I interrupted his story to go drag up the rope ladder.
I latched the hatch and came back to find him with his arms crossed and an indignant look on his face, "Think you can do a better story? Well then, hotshot, have at it."
He tossed the flashlight at me, and I caught it by reflex. I thought about it for a moment and realized that I did have a story I could tell. Maybe by getting it out, I could alleviate the fears that had been consuming me. I was ruining my Halloween campout for what? Some noise outside the treehouse? It was probably just a raccoon or something that had been spooked when we arrived.
My unease had given me the perfect story, though.
"So these three kids were walking in the woods. They were going camping and were going to a familiar spot in the woods to set up. They left their homes at dusk, wanting to camp out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. Their parents told them that if anything went wrong, they could come home and sleep there, but the boys had done this a hundred times and felt that they knew the woods like the back of their hands. They felt like nothing in the woods could surprise them."
"They were wrong."
Terry sneered, but he sat close to the lantern and listened nonetheless. Reggy opened another candy bar, the story drawing him in as the stories almost always did. Reggy didn't really seem to like scary things, he was kind of a scaredy-cat, but he liked the story. He would sit and listen, getting more and more terrified, but always beg for another when you were done. "They walked towards the determined campsite, talking animatedly about the smores they would make and the scary stories they would tell, but one of them kept hearing something as they walked. He heard the snap of a twig here, the crutch of a leaf here, and it made him warry. He told his friends, but they shrugged it off as nothing. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and animals were coming out to forage. They were probably just hearing animals moving around in the dry leaves. The two of them went back to walking, talking between themselves, but the third kept listening, kept looking over his shoulder to see what lay behind."
Terry and Reggy were paying attention, Terry a little begrudgingly, but Reggy's eyes were large and starry as he listened. And as I told the story, I almost thought I could hear the leaves crackling outside the treehouse. The wind in the trees rattled the dying year's foliage against the limbs, and a low whistle could again be heard outside. It was tuneless and wafting, and as it warbled across my sanity, I knew just what was stalking these kids through the woods.
"He kept asking them to listen, telling them it was important, but they wouldn't listen to him. They kept walking, kept talking, and all the while, the crushing of leaves and the rusting of limbs followed them, getting closer and closer. The boy became afraid, the steps sounded large, but he couldn't see anything in the trees as they proceeded down the trail. One of the others finally turned to him and yelled at him, telling him to stop being stupid and just enjoy the trip. There was nothing out there. No one but he could hear it. He was being stupid. He needed to relax." I paused for dramatic effect, seeing Terry roll his eyes at the description of the boy in the story.
"That's when they heard the whistling."
And I imagined I could still hear that whistling outside the treehouse. It was getting closer and closer as I told the story. Was the story drawing it in? Was I calling it to the treehouse? But by now, I couldn't stop myself. The story needed to be told, and I had become a conduit for it. I would tell it to the end, even if the whistler came right up the tree after us.
"They all froze when they heard the whistling. This was no wind through the bowes of a tree. This was a tuneless, monotonous whistling that cut across the dying afternoon like suckle through wheat. It was behind them, seemingly on the trail, and they could hear it getting closer and closer. They began to make their way towards the campsite, walking a little faster, but all three looked over their shoulder now. They were all made uneasy by that whistling, and they all wanted to put some distance between themselves and it."
My friends sat forward, hanging on my every word, entranced by this new development.
Outside, I imagined I could hear the whistling coming from just outside the clearing.
"They didn't talk anymore, they didn't laugh, and they didn't joke. They let their feet take them ever onward, but the whistling followed them. The friend who had insisted it was nothing said that maybe they should speed up a little bit. The campsite couldn't be far. Once they were there, they could take a side trail and get back to town. Or whatever it was would leave, and they could get back to their campout. The other two agreed, but all of them knew that the camp out was already canceled. None of them would sleep here tonight, not willingly. They sped up, but the whistling followed them, followed them steadily. One of them said they should stop and confront the whistler. He must be human; who else or what else could whistle? The other two shot him down, though. The whistling was discordant, jangling against their nerves, sounding like nothing they had ever heard before. Both agreed that they didn't want to find out what whistled like that and kept moving."
Something bumped the bottom of the tree, but my audience didn't seem to notice. It wasn't a hard bump. It didn't shiver the whole tree. It felt more like an inquisitive tap, a gentle knock. Someone trying to get our attention. I put it out of my mind, maybe the wind or something, and kept telling.
"They kept moving, deeper and deeper into the woods, all the time being chased by the whistling. They broke into a run, the campsite still not coming into view, and still, the whistling grew closer and louder. The whistling took on a life of its own, rising and falling as its chaotic tune became less and less discernible. The children put their hands over their ears, the noise scraping across their minds like a rusty scalpel. The hands would not block out the whistling, though. They heard it inside their heads as it battered their senses, and when the first one tripped, the other two did not stop to help him. They didn't hear his screams, but they felt a change when the whistling thing got him."
A night bird called out from the forest, but now, the whistling was in my own head, and I only registered it as something different.
I told the story frantically, hoping it would stop the whistling in my head somehow.
"They dropped their packs then and ran. They sprinted, flat out, knowing that the rail must be just up ahead. They would round the bend, and there it would be, it would be there as it always was, and they could cut back towards town. It never occurred to them that the creature could just cut through the forest after them. The trail to town had a talismanic effect on them. If they could make it, if they could walk it, they would be safe. They ran, they wept, but the whistling followed them on and on. Their feet crunched against the leaves and pine needles, sounding like gunfire, but they hardly noticed over the eerie whistling in their heads."
My two friends were leaning close now, the lantern making their faces look like Jack-o-lanterns as their eyes begged for the climax.
And still, that whistling assaulted me, threatening to drive me mad.
If they noticed it, they gave no indication. "When the second boy fell, the first never noticed. He ran and ran, trying to outdistance the whistling, trying to get it out of his head, and when his friend was found, the whistling again took on a different tone. The lone boy ran and ran, hoping to outdistance the crazed whistling, knowing that his fate would be the same as his friends. Some say he runs to this very day; some say the whistling got him in the end. No one knows for sure."
I heard the whistling abate a little. It didn't leave, but it did lighten slightly. I felt like crying as I came to the end of my story. Maybe I would be allowed to live where the boys had died.
The search parties found their backpacks two days later, animals having worried them to get at the food. They found the campsite bare, no fire having been lit in weeks, but of the boys, they found no sign. No trace was ever found of the boys, not a scrap of clothing, not a footprint. They were never seen again, but the children in the area say that you can hear the whistling in the woods on quiet nights, and on those nights, it is best to stay indoors. The whistling takes all who venture too close, and the whistling will haunt you for the rest of your life, however long that is."
That was when the whistling stopped. It stopped so abruptly that I wondered if it had ever been there at all. For a ten-year-old to question his mental stability is a strange feeling, but, at that moment, I was just glad it had passed me by. The other two shook off their rapture, looking as though they had been hypnotized, and Terry blew out a long breath.
"Well, damn, that was a good story. I can't top that, and suddenly I'm feeling kind of tired."
"Yeah," Reggy said dreamily, "me too. I think maybe, we should go to bed."
I would have argued with them most nights, but tonight, I was as drained as the rest.
We laid out our sleeping bags and burrowed down, dropping off quickly without the usual talk that proceeds it.
I'd like to tell you that this is where the story ends.
I wish I could.
But that wouldn't be doing justice to the memory of my friends.
I awoke in the wee hours of the morning when someone threw a pillow at me. It was not thrown playfully. The throw was hard, angry, and directed at my face. I sat up, rubbing my cheek, and became aware of the keening whistle that had returned. It was louder than ever, and it chilled me to the bone.
"For God Sake, stop it!" Terry yelled, staring daggers at me, "Your story was good, we all said so, but trying to scare us with this stupid whistling isn't funny." I heard someone crying and looked over to see Reggy in the corner with his hands against his face. The whistling was loud and discordant, just as I had described it in my story, and it appeared that I wasn't the only one who could hear it now. Terry looked madder than I had ever seen him, and Reggy was clearly terrified after the story I had spun.
"It's not me, I swear," I told Terry.
He glared at me for a few seconds before realizing that I was right. He moved to the window, and I joined him, trying to see the source of the whistling. Most nights, we would have seen nothing in the inky darkness, but under the light of the full moon, the yard shadowy but visible. As we scanned the yard, we could see little. The firepit below, the logs we sat on as we toasted our marshmallows and weiners, the woodpile we had tarped against the rain.
I had almost decided to go check the other window when Terry gasped like a stepped-on cat.
I looked and saw a man in a long cloak step out of the tree line.
He was dressed in a dark gray cloak, a tall cowboy hat making him look almost seven feet tall as it poked for the skies, and the toes of pointy boots poked from beneath the cloak. The wind seemed loath to touch him, but by the way, he pulled the cloak around himself, you'd have thought he was freezing. I could see a pair of eyes reflect the moonlight as he looked up at us and thought he must be wearing glasses. Of him, we could see very little under the cloak, but he made me very uneasy.
The whistling seemed to be coming from beneath the cloak, and when it stopped, he began to speak, and I wished for the whistling again.
His voice was raspy, pinched, croaksome.
A dead mans pleading last words.
"I'm so cold, boys. Might I take shelter in your treehouse for the night?"
I shuddered, not knowing what to say.
Somehow, Terry found his voice.
"Go away. Our mothers told us not to talk with strangers, and we don't know you."
"Please, boys, kind boys. Didn't your mothers teach you hospitality? Let an old man come in out of the cold." he pleaded.
"No," Terry said and moved away from the window as though the man might somehow leap through the window. The man didn't yell, he didn't plead, he just sat on the log beneath our tree and continued to whistle. The jagged chords wafted up into the treehouse, and I saw Terry shudder as he began again. He picked up a boot that had been part of my costume and went to the window to throw it at the man. Terry sent it sailing but hissed when it didn't connect. As the whistling continued, he threw several other things, but the old man never seemed to be where he was aiming. Terry cussed loudly, reaching for the lamp. I wrapped my arms around it, begging him not to.
"It's all the light we have, Terry. Please!"
He tore it out of my arms, growling as it came free, and chucked it at the old man. It broke on the ground, shattering and fizzling with an electric pop, and the inside of the treehouse was darker for its passing. The whistling went on, though, the man never seemed to run out of breath. Reggy began to rock in the corner, sobbing loudly as the man whistled and whistled below. Terry screamed at him from the window, his rage never-ending, as I covered my ears and tried to keep the threads of my sanity together. It seemed to last for hours, for days, and as I sat with my eyes closed, I prayed it would end.
When I heard the floorboards creak, I opened my eyes.
I saw Reggy standing by the window, his foot already on the ledge.
"Reggy?" I breathed, half getting up, "What are you doing?"
Reggy looked back at me, snot runners creeping down his face. His naked face looks tortured, tears cutting lines down his dirty cheeks. He smiled gruesomely at me as he framed himself in the window, and i didn't have to ask what he intended to do. I tried to stop him, I pulled myself up from the floor to go to him, but it was already too late.
"I just want it to stop." he breathed before he threw himself out the window.
We never heard him hit the ground over the loud and terrible whistling.
Terry stormed over to the hatch and had unlatched it before I could throw myself across it.
"What are you doing?" I breathed.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm gonna go do something about this guy!"
"He's an adult, Terry. You can't do anything to him!" "Get out of my way. I'm going out there."
"He's scary, Terry. You shouldn't go out there, you'll end up like Reggy, you'll…"
Terry kicked me, sending waves of pain through my guts, and I rolled off the trap door. I heard him throw it open and toss the ladder down, descending in a shrieking rage as he made for the whistler. As scared as it had made Reggy, the whistling had made Terry a furious juggernaut. I drew myself up, my ribs hurting and hobbled to the trap door. I looked down before closing it and gasped in horror against my throbbing chest.
The man was at the bottom of the ladder. His face was still hidden by the cloak, his eyes a glittering twosome amidst the swirling dark void, and I could see thick red fluid around the collar of the cloak. He was two rungs up the ladder, temporarily frozen by my gaze, and I slammed the hatch and threw the lock a second before he slammed into it. I crawled away from the hatch, seeing it buck wildly and hearing him scream at me to open it. He cussed and howled like an animal, wanting to get in but stopped by the strong bolt some past child had installed on the sturdy hatch.
Maybe they had installed it to keep him out, I thought after.
My fear overtopped me at some point, and as I watched the door jump in its frame, I must have passed out.
When the banging woke me up, it was daylight, and I screamed loud enough to startle whoever had been banging.
"Easy kid, it's Sheriff Blaske. Are you okay?"
I dragged myself to the hatch, my ribs aching, and threw the bolt before falling back, panting. If it was the whistler, I hoped he was quick, at least. My ribs would turn out to be broken, and their healing would encompass two of the worst months of my life. Every time I breathed in, I was reminded of the whistler and that last encounter with Terry. At that moment, though, I didn't care what happened. I just wanted it to end.
Sheriff Blaske pushed the flap open, and I guessed I'd get to live another day.
He took me to the hospital. He took me to the waiting arms of my parents, who pulled me into the warm embrace of their arms and threatened to never let go. I had been missing for two days, they told me, and when the police had seen the state of our treehouse, they feared the worst. They never found any sign of Terry or Reggy. I told them what had happened. I told them about the whistling man, about Reggy's fall, and Terry charging from the treehouse to attack him. I told them about how I'd locked the trap door and passed out as I watched the man try to batter his way in. That was eight years ago.
I've seen that night in my dreams every night since. The events live on in my memories in living color, and I often wake up screaming as the man tries to break the hatch open. In my dreams, I don't pass out. In my dreams, the hatch doesn't hold. In my dreams, I wake up as he wraps his hands around my throat and drags me towards that pitch-black maw he hides behind the coat. I haven't been back to the forest since that day, and I don't think I ever will.
Lately, though, I've been hearing the whistling as I lie in bed at night. I look out the window, my backyard butting up to the woods, and see two small figures hovering on the outskirts. Sometimes the man in the coat is there too, but I know better than to try and tell my parents. All of them are gone when they get there, and I just end up looking crazy. I leave for college next week, and I've chosen one in the middle of a big city. I planned to attend it because the closest collection of more than four trees is sixty miles from my dorm. I'm hoping that distance will stop these apparitions, but I don't know.
I can hear the whistling now, even as I write this. I can hear my dead friends' soft calls as they entice me to come out and play. I can hear that whistling as it scrapes against my nerves yet again. I hear it, and I hope that I get to leave for college before it becomes too much to bear.
Before, it calls me back to the treehouse once more.
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2020.10.26 21:52 WanderingAnonymous Naked home mom in

Original Post
THE WEREHOUSE
Lacey had been a drifter for as long as she could remember.
More accurately, she’d been on her own since 14. When she ducked out of the poor excuse for a home that a druggie mom and a string of “step-daddies” produced. So, she’d been on her own for a few years, but she’d been surviving longer than that.
Her fight or flight response erred on the side of flight every time, and Lacey was well practiced in executing her standard MO.
Hit a new town. Hang around a diner. Ask a couple questions. Find an out of the way job that didn’t get too nosy. Crash at a bridge or on a bench. Make a couple bucks and move on. Easy. It’d been a tried and true system, so why oh why when she drifted into Salem, WA, did she deviate from her pattern? Why did she stay so long?
She’d been around for a day or so when she saw the posting for a janitor at a Werehouse. The hours and pay were good. With an extra week off every month, just because. Sure, the spelling was off, but she hadn’t even made it to high school, who was she to judge? So, she’d dropped by and applied.
The werehouse was state of the art. The building looked like not even a tornado could rip it apart. Strong, solid, gorgeous. It was silly to think of a building that way, but Lacey felt safe as soon as she walked through the doors. Had fallen a little bit in love with the werehouse’s commanding presence surrounding her. The owner, Devin, was a burly sort. Younger than she’d think an owner would be, probably around her age, late teens. She thought it was odd that he was the one interviewing her, but she wasn’t a typical candidate either. He didn’t ask many questions and within an hour she had the job.
The first few months went well. The werehouse was already so clean, that her days were simple maintaining. That didn’t mean she cut corners, no she was thorough. She took pride in her work, pride in keeping the Ol’ Guy, as she’d started calling the werehouse, in top form. Once or twice she’d seen Devin checking her work and smiled triumphantly when he gave a curt nod.
The Ol’ Guy had units, similar to a storage unit, that she never went into. Come to think of it, she never saw anyone going in and out of them. Most days, it was just her in the structure. Sometimes, Devin. He never talked to her, just went about business shuffling papers in the office. She always ignored his presence and kept cleaning while she jammed to an old cd and discman she’d found in the last town’s goodwill. Only occasionally did one of his friends come in. It was the only time she saw him laugh. She was enjoying the simplicity of this life, so she stayed longer than usual.
She’d found a great little bridge on this side of town and made her camp. Life was simple, life was good. Then Halloween came.
Lacey had returned home on Halloween to find her bridge overrun with townsfolk. They’d remade it into a haunted hayride scare-stop. Zombies and Masked Men with Chainsaws waited for the wagon of kiddies to show up, then they’d pop out and scare them before the wagon moved on. Lacey watched the show from the shadows a couple of times. Cursing herself for leaving her book in her stash. She wasn’t scheduled to work for another week, and she’d been looking forward to kicking back and reading for a while.
Sighing at the temperature drop, Lacey decided it was time to find a place to bed down for the night, without her book, and away from the Fright-fest that currently inhabited her home. She’d been walking along the river when it came to her. Why not bed down at the werehouse? It was perfect. Wondering why she’d never thought of it before, she started jogging. Eager now to get inside and find a corner or maybe a unit to curl up in.
Letting herself in with her code, she took in the space at night. It was a full moon and the bright light cut through the many skylights. Creating a shadowed, spooky effect. Lacey shook off her goosebumps. She’d seen worse. Been through worse. It was fine.
As she made her way down the hallway, she heard rumbles echo throughout the Ol’ Guy. If she didn’t know better, she would think they were … growls? The noise got louder and multiplied the further down the hallway she went. Stopping in front of an end unit, Lacey paused. Listened.
There was definitely something in that storage cube. It was moving, growling. It sounded trapped, scared, angry. Lacey could relate, she’d felt that primal cry within herself before. Maybe that’s why she did it. Moved by the feeling of being a kindred spirit. Whatever was in there, didn’t deserved to be caged. Lacey pushed the master code into the lock on the door and hit the green button beside it.
The metal door started to roll up, like a garage door, and whatever was inside stilled. Quieted. A low rumble the only sound coming from inside.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. I don’t know how you got stuck but —”
Lacey’s soothing words were cut short when the door stopped, fully open, and the moonlight revealed what was inside.
A wolf, larger than any she’d ever seen, was crouched on its haunches eyeing her hungrily. Oh crap.
Lacey froze. Should she take a step back? Or stay still and try to assert dominance with eye contact? In all her years and all the crap, she’d been through. Nothing had prepared her for dealing with a big ol’ wolf looking at her like she was its next meal.
Her eye darted towards the door, could she hit the close button and run fast enough? Would the door shut in time or would the next few breaths be her last?
The growl in the wolf’s throat grew, the tension in the back legs changed and —
Lacey hit the close button as the wolf launched at her.
The door hadn’t even started closing when the wolf slammed into her. Standing over her, its teeth bared, its eyes angry. Lost to bloodlust, its fangs latched onto her arm.
Fire shot through her. The bite was more agonizing than anything she’d ever endured. Her toes curled and her muscles screamed. A horrendous noise cut through the air, her shout, she realized belatedly. The wolf was still over her, its blood covered muzzle moving towards her neck when —
A massive force plowed into the wolf. Knocking it away from Lacey.
From her curled position on the floor, she saw two very large and furry bodies going at it. Snapping at each other, circling each other. Her rescuer launched at the other wolf, going for the neck. Through her agony, trying to stop the blood flow from the bite wound, Lacey watched amazed as her attacker submitted. She’d seen dominance fights on Animal Planet but having two creatures that outweighed her many times over dueling feet from her was a new experience.
And then, something impossible happened. The dominant wolf began … changing.
It took a couple minutes, but the wolf became a man. A very angry, very naked man.
He turned away from the wolf, who had stayed in a submissive position at his feet and looked at Lacey.
Devin. What the hell?! Was her last thought, before Lacey passed out.
XXX
She woke up inside a storage unit. Probably the same one she’d opened. Her arm was bandaged, and she was comfortably tucked in, on a makeshift cot. Sheets, pillows, everything. Lacey couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in a bed, it was nice. She was tempted to roll back over and sleep in, it was a luxury she didn’t really want to give up. But looking around her confirmed she was in a unit and the door was shut. And that feeling of being caged took her breath away.
She shot up from the cot, fighting the panic that was overwhelming her. She hated enclosed spaces. Ever since stepdaddy number three locked her in the closet hallway for hours at a time for being too annoying, she’d been severely claustrophobic. Lacey started pounding on the door. Calling for someone to let her out, please. She was suffocating and slumped onto the floor. Beating the bottom of the door with her good arm. The arm with the bite, still ached too much to move it.
She was weeping, when the door opened.
Devin. He took one look at her, cursed, then picked her up and carried her to the cot. Lacey didn’t even protest, with the door open she could breathe again, and she was busy gasping big gulps of air.
“Claustro-phobic.” She got out around gulps. He considered her carefully. She’d never noticed how his eyes held greens and golds that danced like a flame, changing as he observed her. He watched her like he was trying to figure out a math problem.
“We’ll have to take you to the mountain for you first change, then.”
Mountain? Changes? What was he talking about? It was too much for her. Her arm hurt like a mother. That thing —
“What was that?” Lacey didn’t actually expect him to answer, already his first cryptic response was more words in one sentence then she’d ever heard out of him.
“That was a werewolf. One of the newer members or he would’ve been able to control himself. He’s been sentenced to a three-moon banishment as punishment for … I’m sorry.” Devin’s jaw clenched on the apology. She got the impression he didn’t do that much. She was blown away by the twenty plus words he’d spoken.
“Sorry?”
“Looks like you don’t need to redo the bandage. Come with me, I’ll show you where you can get showered and changed. Lily had some clothes that will fit you, and you can bunk with Cindy at her cabin while you recover.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Holy smokes, batman. Not only could Devin talk, but he could spew gibberish.
“I don’t understand. Who are these people and why would you help me like that? And what happened to me last night?”
Devin sighed, now standing at the door he looked back.
“You were bitten by a werewolf. The fact that you survived the night, means your body fought to accept the transformation rather than die. On the next moon, you will shift. For the rest of you very long life, you will shift.”
She’d used her ‘holy smokes, batman’ too soon. Holy smokes. She was a … werewolf?
“But what does that mean?”
“It means you have a pack now, Lacey.”
A pack. The thought took her breath away. She’d been alone for so long; she didn’t know how to respond. She thought back to the few times Devin’s friends had visited him at the werehouse. The open camaraderie, the laughter, the comfort they all had with each other.
“A pack.”
“If you want it, if you earn it.”
Whatever this new life held, she thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she had people, well were-people, to experience it with. It’d be nice to not always be on the run, to settle down and live a real life. Have a family.
“I want to be pack.”
Devin scrutinized her. Lacey held her breath, realizing somewhere inside of her that she was looking at her Alpha and his decision, his acceptance, mattered. Something instinctual made her want to offer him something, respect. But how? Her arm still throbbed, but she moved off the cot onto the floor in a crouch. Facing Devin, but her head bowed. A feeling of peace and calm, being protected and cherished flowed through her. It was as if a net of warmth had been thrown over her, she could feel the bubble of the pack bond cover her from head to toe. She could feel others’ energy and moods through it. She wasn’t alone, she was accepted. Wanted. Celebrated.
Devin grunted. “Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up and introduced.”
As Lacey followed Devin down the hallway, she tucked the bond tighter around her like an invisible blanket. Whatever the future held; she was pack now. Her heart soared at the thought and on the other side of the bond, she felt the triumphant howl of the others answering her heart’s call.
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2020.10.26 17:11 HaulA126Octl Naked mom in home

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