I survived a ‘nonsurvivable’ plane crash. I was on an old Po-2 (famous for being very safe and uncrashable) on a tour of the desert in western China when I was 7. My father’s friend who piloted the plane didn’t survive, but somehow I got out with only a concussion. I apparently passed out for almost a day in the wreckage on the edge of the desert, 50 kilometers from the town/airport.
The people who found me were some tree planters. (They plant greens in the desert to protect towns from sandstorms — a lot of people who live in these desert towns in China do this.) They found me while they were picking up a shipment, and the only reason they looked was that they were making a bet to see how quickly an egg could cook in the sand, and they went off the road to test it.
According to my dads, I survived because the plane was mostly made out of fabrics and wood, so when the plane crashed, the front half collapsed and took the majority of the impact. I was knocked out and was luckily covered under the wreckage and in the shade, so that cooled me off enough to survive for a day or so.
I have the rarest type of synesthesia, which means I can actually taste words. It’s called lexical-gustatory, and less than .2% of the population has it. I have to physically say the words out loud to taste them (so reading silently to myself won’t do it). When I was younger, I’d always repeat words that tasted good in my head, and I’d avoid saying words that tasted bad.”
Now I can mostly ignore it. It only happens if I speak, so I don’t taste from other people during conversations. For example, ‘Sam’ tastes like lemon juice mixed with salt, almost like a chili-lime flavor without the spiciness; ‘Jon’ tastes like raisins; and ‘Noah’ tastes like avocado
I was kidnapped while leaving work one day and was held captive for 18 months, along with two other girls. The guy who took us claimed himself to be an ‘ineffable lower god,’ and he used cult tactics, manipulation, and control to have us be his family.
I was allowed to leave to go to the grocery store as an errand, but I knew if I didn’t come back, the others would receive my punishment. I finally got away by stabbing my captor when I believed he was going to kill me.
My father and I went to a casino for the first time. I had $50 in my pocket, with the intention of that being the only money we’d spend. We played roulette and quickly lost 45 bucks. As I had a $5 chip, I placed it on the number 5. The ball started spinning and actually landed on that number. We cheered. I decided to leave the whole bet on 5 again. Rinse and repeat. The ball fell on number 5 FOUR times in a row. We walked out with almost $43,000 in the bag after taxes. Never went in a casino again in my life.
I’ve never lived in a haunted house, but my mother did as a teen, Other houses on her street had strange things going on too. A few homes away from her lived a family. One night, the daughter went to bed with a bad headache. The next day, she was dead—she’d passed away from an aneurysm.
After her funeral, the family went away to get their minds off the tragedy, and the father asked my uncle—my mom’s brother—to check on their pets. My mom and dad (who were dating at the time) went with him; my mother had heard there was a grand piano, and she wanted to play it. My dad was studying to be a veterinarian.
After entering the house, my uncle and my father headed to the basement to see the animals, and my mother went to the piano on the ground floor. She was playing it when she felt something brush her ankles. She thought a cat must have left the basement and walked past her. She kept playing. And then she felt it again.
She looked under the piano and saw nothing. When she started again, she felt hands clasp her legs tightly. She dashed to the basement door, called my uncle and father, and waited for them. Back outside, my uncle could tell my mom was rattled and asked what was wrong.
She told him what had happened, and he turned white. He told her the daughter who had died used to play a game with her father. When he played the piano, she’d crawl underneath, grab his ankles and push his feet up and down on the pedals.
One night when I was 10, I was woken up by my bedroom door opening, followed by someone sitting on my bed, I felt my leg grazed and the bed sink under a person’s weight. It’s just Mom, I thought, and I opened my eyes.
It was not my mom. I found an eyeless boy—he had black, empty sockets—about my age sitting at the foot of my bed. He extended his hand, and in it was a little box. I was startled but reached out. He pulled back. I reached again and said, ‘Give it.’ Then I blinked, and when I reopened my eyes, he was gone. But I could still see the imprint where he’d sat on my bed.
Five years. My girlfriend came over to do homework. After she finished, she took a nap while she waited for her parents. When they arrived, I tried waking her up. She opened her eyes suddenly, looking up at a corner where the wall met the ceiling. She pointed there and went back to sleep. I shook her again. She came to full consciousness, and I explained what she’d done. She looked haunted. ‘Up on the wall, I saw a little boy with no eyes. He was there, in a Spider-Man pose, staring at me.’ I freaked out and told her my story about the same kid.
Another five years. I was with the same girlfriend, and we had a 2-year-old. We were living in my parents’ house, in my old room. My daughter started waking up at the same time every night, and she’d talk. After a while, I noticed she had almost the same conversation every night. I playfully asked her once whom she was talking to. She said, ‘It’s a little boy. He’s nice. He’s lost and looking for his mommy.’ My daughter’s nightly conversations continued until we got our own place later that year.
My daughter won’t stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help.
Please help!!
In February 1957, a college student stumbled upon the remains of a young boy in the woods of Philadelphia and reported his gruesome discovery to the police. The boy was found badly beaten and laid to rest inside an old bassinet box. His identity was unknown.
Several people came forward with information relating to the case, but the police were not able to verify anyone’s testimony. One woman, Martha, claimed that her abusive mother bought the boy. Under their roof, he was subjected to physical and sexual abuse. What made the police take interest in Martha’s story was her knowledge of details that had not been released to the public. She claimed that shortly before the boy was beaten to death, he ate baked beans, which corroborated the autopsy. She also claimed that he was bathed before his death, which matched the coroner’s finding of water-pruned fingers. Though Martha’s testimony seemed to match the evidence, her substantial history of mental illness made her an unreliable witness.
Another lead came from a psychic who accurately described a foster home near where the boy had been found, without ever having seen it. Remington Bristow, an employee at the examiner’s office, followed the psychic’s directions to the foster house. Inside, he discovered a bassinet matching the description of the bassinet box the boy was found in. He also found blankets similar to the one that was wrapped around the boy’s body. Because there was no real incriminating evidence against the foster parents, Bristow’s findings were dismissed as well.
62 years later, the case of the Boy in the Box has gone cold. Facial reconstruction technology has provided mock images of what the boy might have looked like alive, but no one has ever come forward to claim him. DNA and dental testing have also been attempted, with no success thus far. The identity of the Boy in the Box remains unknown to this day.
Early in 1980, Dorothy Jane Scott began receiving threatening phone calls at work. She was the single mother of a toddler who didn’t think much of the calls at first, until one night when the sinister voice over the phone told her to look outside. A single dead rose was lying on the windshield of her car. The stalker who had gotten ahold of her number would oscillate between professing his love for her and threatening bodily harm. Dorothy mentioned to several family members and friends that the voice over the phone sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place who he was. She never got a chance to find out.
One night, at a staff meeting, Dorothy noticed one of her co-workers looked ill. She and another colleague drove the man to a nearby hospital. The doctors said he had a nasty spider bite and needed a prescription. While the two co-workers were waiting for the prescription to be filled, Dorothy went out to the parking lot to get her car. It was the last time she was seen alive.
Her co-workers testified that after she did not return, they went out to meet her in the parking lot. At that moment, they saw her car speeding away, so they assumed there was an emergency with her son.
Dorothy never returned home to her son nor did anyone hear from her again. Four years later, her charred bones were found at a construction site. Adding another layer of mystery to the case is the fact that a set of dog bones was found right next to her remains. Though people on the internet are still discussing the case today, no one was ever convicted or held in suspicion, and the mysterious caller was never found.
Three young Girl Scouts staying at an Oklahoma campsite were raped and murdered. The girls—Lori, Michelle, and Doris—were between the ages of eight and ten. About two months before the murders, a camp counselor found a disturbing note in her belongings. The culprit promised to murder three children at the camp. Knowing that young campers enjoy telling scary stories around the campfire, the camp counselor dismissed the threatening note as nothing more than a prank—a decision she would come to regret.
Early in the morning of June 13, the girls’ bodies were found in their sleeping bags out on the trail leading to the camp showers. The only evidence that their killer left behind was a red flashlight and a bloody footprint.
The prime suspect in the Oklahoma Girl Scout Murders was Gene Leroy Hart, an escaped convict. Hart had been raised about a mile from Camp Scott and at the time of the murders he was at large after escaping from prison, where he had been serving time for burglary, kidnapping, and rape. A local jury acquitted Hart of the crime, citing a lack of evidence. However, Oklahoma police consider the case solved.
To this day, no one knows if Gene Leroy Hart got away with murder, or if the true killer was someone else entirely. Either way, the girls’ killer never saw justice.
