I was walking home from the bar one night, (yes it was dumb but I didn’t have a car and was too proud to ask for a ride. I walked everywhere all the time anyway.) About a third of the way home I realized someone was following me. Came to a fork in the road, one way leads me home in 2 blocks and the other way is a 24 hour coffee shop but that was more like 4 blocks and the road didn’t have street lights.

I decided to go home (this doesn’t really happen does it? It’ll be fine) and pick up my pace a little but now I hear footsteps behind me, and gaining, until he finally catches up to me and grabbed me from behind. “Keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt” I’ll never forget those words. Well having just come from the bar I still had a buzz kinda and I definitely wasn’t going anywhere with this guy, so I kinda twisted around and he punched me a couple times in the ribs. No lie I actually hit him with my purse and I did yell but no one came to their window or anything. He ran away the other way and I went home, I was right around the corner.

When I got to my 3rd floor apartment I was telling my roommates (my brother and my ex) what had happened and I had blood running all down my arm, I thought he punched me but he actually stabbed me 3 times with something thin and pointy. I get woozy when I see my own blood so after that I don’t remember too much. My brother grabbed a kitchen knife and took off looking for the guy, cops were called, cops came, cops said it was my ex. They literally didn’t believe me. I went to the hospital in an ambulance and stayed 3 nights I think, I had a collapsed lung in the left side and have a gnarly scar from the chest tube. They never caught him.

Not that interesting, but I was walking in the dark one night to get a glass of water. I made it down the stairs and turned towards the kitchen to step on something wet and slimy feeling. I touched it with my hand just to figure out my cat had decided to throw up there.

After a heavy night of drinking one weekend in high school I was spending the night at my friend’s house. The place wasn’t the cleanest, because, high schoolers. There was a bird that was kept in the bedroom and birds are pretty messy and throw food all over the place when they eat. There were clothes all over the floor so you couldn’t see the floor at all. When we walked in the room, the floor moved.

They left a blacklight on as a nightlight, turned on Ginuwine “My Pony” on loop and passed the fuck out. The room was kinda spinning from the amount that I had drank so if I closed my eyes I would get the spins. As I was looking up at the ceiling debating my life choices I saw something crawl across the wall. It.was.fucking.roaches.

I sat up in a bit of a panic and really started looking around the room and saw that roaches were crawling up the walls, over the bed and pillow, and my friend that was sleeping. I spent the night cross legged in an office chair with a can of roach spray that was in the corner of the room spraying a puddle of it around the chair as a barrier.

Found out later that because of them feeding the cats and just leaving wet cat food cans out around the house, sewer roaches would crawl up the bathtub drain in the middle of the night and pour out around the house.

Needless to say, my house is fucking CLEAN. And I might have slight ptsd with that fucking song and the feel of a bug crawling on me.

I was once so drunk that I ate a piece of pizza that fell cheese side down on a San Francisco sidewalk.

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I have two! I’ll stick with the quick gross one for now.

I work on a farm and typically walk around barefoot - it’s just easier to get around in general. So I’m in our greenhouse dedicated to tomatoes. It’s pretty big, about a hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, and it’s late July so this thing is just overgrown with huge tomato plants. But we’re a fairly small operation so while there are many plants - about 700 - they aren’t exactly strung up neatly. Just a veritable jungle of leaves, branches, green, ripe and rotten tomatoes everywhere. Including the floor.

So I’m in there pussyfooting and tip-toeing through openings of plants trying not to smoosh plants - or significantly worse yet step square into a rotten tomato - when it happens.

SQUISHHHHH

“BLECH!” I spit out recoiling my foot, scrunching my face and looking down, my disgust morphing to horror. Oh, if only I had stepped on a tomato and not a bloated, dead rat.

I found out that I’m allergic to Preparation H

I had just left the military to go to college, was a healthy mid-20s person with bright eyes for the future.

After a month, I was getting winded while hiking. After three months, I was fainting with high exertion. After six months, I was getting daily migraines. After eight months, I was having full tonic-clonic seizures.

After ten months, I was sat in front of a cardiologist that told me if I didn’t agree to a surgery and a stay in the hospital, I would be dead in three to five months.

This is all significantly shortened, but going from having a real taste of freedom and being able to do anything I set my mind to, to being laid up in a hospital bed with a mile of wires and tube sticking in me and on me – it was terrifying.

These are the scariest two moments of my life.

The first happened when my oldest son was 11 months old. He started running a fever. We called the doctor and were told to give him a lukewarm bath. So in the bathroom he went. He was doing well in the tub and I watched him while my wife went to get a towel.

When she came back, he looked at my wife. Except not really at her. It was like he was looking in her direction, but didn’t see her. That’s when his eyes rolled up and he stopped breathing. My wife called 911 while I got him out of the tub and put him on our bed. I was calling his name but there was no response. To make matters worse, he was turning blue.

By the time the EMS arrived, he started breathing again. The sound of a baby crying had never before sounded so good. Crying meant he was alive.

It turned out that he had a febrile seizure which, the doctors later explained, can occur when a baby’s temperature rises or falls too quickly. They are scary but harmless most of the time.

Fast forward 4 years. By this point, we had a second son and he was about 11 months old. He was running a fever and the doctor said to give him a lukewarm bath. I was feeling major deja vu about the situation so my wife not only got a towel beforehand, but called her parents who quickly came by as backup just in case. (My older son was sleeping.)

I put my younger son in the tub. Just as I feared, after a while, his eyes went back and he stopped breathing or responding. Only he didn’t turn blue. No, he turned grey. My wife called 911 as my mother-in-law started rescue breaths on him as he lay on my bed.

I raced from the bedroom, watching my mother-in-law giving my lifeless son rescue breaths, to the door looking for any hint of emergency services, and back again. My father-in-law told me that I could sit down and he’d keep and eye out for me. I told him that I needed to be doing something. I couldn’t just sit down and watch my baby possibly dying. I needed to do something even if it was completely useless.

Thankfully, the EMS arrived and my son started breathing again. They asked me how long he wasn’t breathing for and I honestly couldn’t tell. It might have been a minute or two, but it felt like 8 hours.

This was another febrile seizures. Unfortunately, my younger son seems to have been prone to them. He wouldn’t show any signs of having a fever until he started seizing. He easily had half a dozen until he grew out of these. (And he learned the “fun game” of pretending not to breathe until daddy freaked out and he started laughing.)

Those two moments remain the scariest of my life and I hope they never be surpassed. My anxiety has risen just typing this out and they happened over 15 years ago. I don’t think I could take something scarier than seeing my son lying lifeless in front of me.

When I was about 20 years old, I went to the Philippines with my family. We stayed with family friends who are quite wealthy and live in a big mansion, which meant all us guests had our own rooms. Mine was a spacious bedroom downstairs that once belonged to their son before he died in a motorcycle crash.

One night I was struck by sleep paralysis, which was nothing new for me, except for one thing. Normally I don’t see shadowy figures or anything like that, but this time I saw something that I’ve never forgotten.

I was on my back with my head turned toward the staircase that led up to the bedroom door. Along the bottom of the stairs was a short hallway, and from there a barefoot old lady in a white nightgown appeared and started walking slowly toward me. I could tell she was old because she had gray hair and wrinkly skin, but I couldn’t see her face. It wasn’t obscured by her hair or anything, but it was blurry, unlike the rest of her body.

She kept getting closer and closer, and I kept trying to scream, but all I could do was look. When she was a few feet away, I was able to shut my eyes, and eventually I broke the paralysis. After I opened my eyes again, she was gone.

Years later I told this story to my friend who grew up in the Philippines. When I got to the part about the old lady in white, her eyes got big and she said, “Wait, you saw the White Lady?!” Apparently my description matched some spooky folklore she heard about as a kid. I had no idea about that, and until then I always figured I had a vivid hallucination. Now I’m not so sure.