Oh, hello everybody. How are you? You know what? When I want a dabbling variety, I sit down and I listen to Carrie and Donna talk amongst themselves about scary stories and crazy fricking aspects. I might be living up the block from you.

What are you gonna do? Nothing. It's all good. Whatever. Hey, all this is Christa from Texas. Creep it real and don't get scared, bitches.

Hey, all I'm Donna and I'm Carrie and we are Paranormal Chicks, sinister sightings 162. And you just heard from Christa C, you know, Texas. Right? It was the best New York accent ever. And that she said ass bags, I'm dead.

Well, if you and your ass bags want to do an intro, head on over to patreon.com slash the APC podcast. The first one's called Stopdark in Me Around. Hello, you beautiful southern queens. Thank you for holding this wonderful space for us. We creeps to share our experiences. I always learned so much and I found such peace and comfort in the stories of those who have shared their own personal stories. Thank you. Well, it's your most annoying listener, the suburban farmer here to tell you a story about one of the strangest

scariest encounters I have ever experienced. Give me ghosts any day of the week. It's people that I'm afraid of the most. Cue the year about to be on an episode of Criminal Mods Music and let's jump in. I was 17 years old. It was the spring of my junior year of high school 2000. I was living in North Houston getting ready for summer and my upcoming senior year and my BFF happened to be running for senior class president.

She and I happened to have the day off. So after school, we went to Hobby Lobby to shop for campaign material. Nothing high tech. We're talking poster boards, paint glitter. We had a whole theme, color palette, and we're two young women on a mission. This would have been about 3.34 o'clock in the afternoon. We checked out of Hobby Lobby with our supplies and began walking to her little gold Honda. When my BFF had parked, she had pulled through the parking space so that she would not have to back out of the parking spot when we left as she felt it was safer as a new driver.

My BFF was rambling on about this and that as we walked in the hot sun back to her car. We did not parked right up front near the entrance. Instead, parking near the back of the lot as again, my BFF thought that as a new driver, no one would park next to her that far out so her paint wouldn't get scratched. Oh, the priorities of a 17 year old. This was right around the time that cell phones became a thing. She was one of the first people in our class to get one and they were still such a novelty that when anyone called you,

you made a point to be seen talking on the phone. Her phone rang, she answered and it was her brother Andrew. They began bickering as we walked through the parking lot.

I noticed that an older tan Chrysler had parked next to us in a way that the driver's side door was right next to our front passenger door. It looked like it would be a tight squeeze and I was worried that I would end up

dinging what I imagined to be a poor old man or woman's car. I looked a few spaces closer to us and there was another car, an old red Pontiac that was about four spaces closer to us, but in the same road.

So it kind of blocked the view of where we were parked from the front of the lot where most people were parked near the entrance. I really thought nothing of it. It was super hot so I was just casually looking at the vehicles over to make sure I didn't see any dog inside.

I noticed the Pontiac had cracked windows and then I noticed that the Chrysler had both passenger side and driver side windows rolled down.

As we approached my BFF's car with her still on the phone, I cautiously squeezed between her passenger side door and the driver side door of the Chrysler parked next to our car.

I was just standing there waiting as she argued with her brother on the phone while juggling hobby lobby bags and digging for her keys in her purse.

I don't know why, but I was waiting for her to unlock the car. She actually had to use a key.

Facing her passenger door, I slowly turned and looked over my shoulder into the Chrysler which I was sandwiched between.

The driver seat was completely laid back, almost all the way down to where the headrest touched the back seat.

In the driver seat, laid back in what looked to be a fake nurse's uniform was a very large man, completely silent.

At least six, three, three hundred pounds, a balding skullet with bushy black curly hair.

He was wearing glasses which I believe are his, but also had on what looked to be like a multicolor wig that looks like a clown wig.

I made contact with him. He did not flinch as he locked eyes with me seemingly to enjoy my attention.

I was searching for every explanation that my 17-year-old brain could imagine to explain this what the fuck moment.

...