Unleash the terror with exclusive access to my horror podcast on Patreon,

early releases and bonus episodes await you.

We all have stories that we know will never get a chance to tell.

Stories that are too horrible, too inexplicable, or simply too bizarre to explain.

Maybe that's why I feel the need to tell this story to strangers now.

I mean, how would I even begin to tell a story like this to a friend?

Oh, by the way, I was kidnapped when I was seven years old and the perpetrator was never caught.

Should I also add that every time I hear the floorboards creak or a car door slam?

I'm sure that it's about to happen again.

In my memories, my kidnapper doesn't have a face.

He just has shiny black shoes, an ugly blue suit, and sunburned hands with the plain gold wedding band.

I can't help but imagine him as five times my size, just as he was then.

I can still hear his voice, like the voice of God, booming down from high above.

It wasn't my parents fault, they warned me not to talk to strangers,

and they kept an eye on me while I played.

But no one can be everywhere at once.

And anyone can make a mistake.

I remember my last moments as a normal child with startling clarity.

The green smell of the fresh cut grass on the soccer field,

the noise of coaches and players and parents shouting all at once.

Lemon lime gatorade slashed in my stomach.

I needed to pee and a cold sweat broke out of my forehead when I realized that I'd never

...