Let's Not Meet~ Reddit Horror Stories

I Scared Away A Serial Stabber

My family lived in one of the "nicer" neighborhoods of my city, and unfortunately muggings weren't uncommon, though to my knowledge at the time, none had resulted in anyone's death. I wasn't really following the neighborhood news, or any news really. I could tell my mother was getting increasingly worried over the past few months, but I just didn't care enough to ask why. She kept reminding me to lock all the doors, travel in groups, not talk to strangers yadda yadda yadda - the same spiel most responsible parents give their kids, only I took insult at being lectured weekly about safety at 16.

Our first fight about this happened when I was told I was not allowed to walk home from the train anymore. I was taking some extracurricular lessons at the center of the city, and rode the train to the end of the line where we lived, which was in no way remote. Our apartment building was about a 10 minute walk from the station, and I had been doing that distance since I was little, I could literally do it with my eyes closed. I usually walked around with my headphones on and my old and much beloved CD-player in my bag, listening to something loud and grungy, feeling completely safe in my little bubble of melodious solitude.

Lots of yelling and screaming, lots of "you still treat me like a child, you don't trust me, you are suffocating me, you are taking away my freedom, you are the world's worst mother ever" drama, you get the idea. Eventually we came to a compromise. As long as there was still light out, I could walk home. Otherwise I'd give her a call and she would come pick me up. I was fine with that, for the time.

On that particular night, however, I was really, REALLY angry. Don't ask me what about, I honestly don't remember the reason - I just remember the wrath. I wanted to scream bloody murder, and the feeling got even more exacerbated when I realized I had to "call my mommy to pick me up". Nope, no way I was doing that, didn't matter that it was raining, I wasn't a baby or made of sugar. I got out of the train, ignored the heavy rain, and walked marched straight home. On the outside I must have looked like a normal 16yo listening to some music while hurrying home, but on the inside I was preparing to crush my enemies, see them kneeling before me, and hear the lamentation of their women.

The way from the station to my home is pretty well lit, except from one turn. Back then, there were unkempt hedges on both sides of the corner, one in front of the abandoned lot, and no street lights at all for about 100ft. I approached the turn completely oblivious of my surroundings, internally planning my revenge against a yet unidentified foe, when someone jumped out beside me from the bushes, wielding a large kitchen knife.

Most of what follows, I remember in a blur. I don't remember what he looked like, it was dark and he was wearing a hood. I remember he smelled strongly of medicinal alcohol, but I honestly don't recall him saying anything. He probably didn't have enough time to anyway. Because when he jumped out of the shadows, I was so startled I dropped my discman.

And that was it.

I saw red, and completely lost it on the guy. All of the day's frustration poured out of me like a dam breaking, and I unleashed a torrent of swearwords at him, most of which I made up on the spot. I completely ignored the knife, shoved him back hard, kept screaming "Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" over and over, and bent over to pick up my shattered CD-player. I don't know what he did, and to this day I don't know why he didn't attack me when I was crouched down, but when I gathered all the pieces and I stood up, he was nowhere to be seen.

Holding the pieces of my broken discman and CD, I continued my march home, muttering a variation of "Great, just great, that's just perfect, what else is going to happen today to make this day EVEN SHITTIER?!", and occasionally turning around to yell another "Fuck you, man!" at the general direction of the guy. When I got home, I got straight into a fight with a furious mother for not calling her, and made sure not to mention what happened out of fear that it would give credence to her side. The gravity of it all hit me in the shower, after the adrenaline had subsided, and yet I think I still cried more for my broken discman than for realizing the danger I had put myself through, and what I had just survived.

It all came crashing down on me 2 days later, when one of my neighbors was found stabbed in the lot behind the hedge where I was attacked. I didn't know her that well, we went to Sunday school together, but my family and hers were neighbors for years. I overheard my mother talking on the phone about the "serial killer" that was making his rounds around the most affluent parts of the city, and how this was the latest in a series of muggings and stabbings in the area.