Few things feel better than a good run, jogging through the streets at night,

or taking a sunset hike through the forest trails. But, few things leave you more vulnerable

than jogging alone. Putting distance between your home and yourself, bad things are bound to happen,

as these 10 creepy confessions from joggers will show you.

If you want your story in a future video like this one, send me your creepy backpacking

stories at darknesspervels.org slash submit. Thank you.

A Glenton is Hand, he was crawling. Bye, Scott.

I'm an avid runner. Since my early teen years, I've run through freezing rain and searing heat.

Voguey nights and sunny days. Bad every once in a while. Something happens that makes me reconsider

my dedication to the passion. On a cool August night, a couple of years back, something happened

that changed my running habits for good. I'd recently moved back into my parents' place in that

awkward interim between college and career. It's funny because I'd done my night runs in sketchy

cities and bad neighborhoods for years. Nothing special or weird ever happened. But in this suburban

middle-upper class neighborhood on the outskirts of town, I had one of my most frightening running

experiences of my life. My normal two-mile jog took me through the same

lamplit intersection three times before getting back home. Don't ask how exactly, it's more of a

complex route. But suffice to say, I must go through this intersection once to leave my house,

once halfway through my route and once to get home. I had run this route hundreds of times,

night or day, and it was always safe then, and there was always scarce traffic.

On the night in question, I took off on my run around 10.45 pm. My parents were already off to bed,

and the neighborhood was usually quiet by nine. I took off down the street at a standard pace,

the silence of the night rejected by the epic music blaring through my cheap Walmart headphones.

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