I'm sorry if this post is too long, but I've never shared this with anyone, and this seems like the best place to do so. When I was around nine, I went to summer camp at the nearby YMCA for a few summers. It was a day camp and there were different camps you could do, such as water sports, crafts, canoeing. Each camp lasted for about one week. I started the summer by taking one of the craft camps, a special
one that lasted two weeks. I was really excited about it, but I was nervous because I didn't know anyone else in my group and I'm very shy. In the first day, I managed to make friends with an older kid who was in a wheelchair. He was seventeen I believe. I'm not sure what his disability was, but he was socially awkward and kind of gave off a creepy vibe. I tried my best to be nice to him because nobody else talked to him, but eventually he started to make
me uncomfortable. First, he'd start by talking about how much he hated being in the wheelchair because it made his back hurt. He liked to be able to get out at the end of the day and stretch as he was do some exercises with this physical therapist, and I just smile and nod as he talked about this, not knowing what else to say. At some point, I mentioned to him how I was a dancer and really liked acrobatics class. He asked me to show him some of
my moves, so I did a cartwheel. He told me that my legs looked beautiful when I stretched them out like that. Being a kid, I didn't think much of the comment, but I started getting uncomfortable when he began telling me how much he liked my hair, or how white my teeth were, or how cute I was because I was so little. One day, he was talking about stretching outside of his wheelchair and mentioned how good it would feel if someone were to walk on his back.
You'd be perfect, just the right size. Would you do that for me one day? I'd love to have you on top of me. He smiled creepily when he said this, so I awkwardly changed the direction of the conversation by telling him how I used to do that for my dad. I was young and stupid and probably shouldn't have told him that. He got really excited and started talking about how much he loved and how good it must have felt for my dad. I bet he loves having his
little girl on top of him like that. He reached out to me at this point and put his hand on my knee. We were sitting by a table in the craft cabin. I awkwardly shoved it off, moving away a little. He smiled and started talking about how good it would feel if I were to do cartwheels on his back and jump on him, maybe even lay down on top of him and rub his sighs. I got really uncomfortable at this point, and luckily my mom drove up a moment later, so I was ready to leave.
This was on the weekend and the camp was going to continue to the following Monday. I didn't mention anything to my mom because I figured he was just lonely and awkward and didn't mean to be creepy. But when I got to the camp Monday, he immediately came up to me. I was so upset that I couldn't see you this weekend. I missed my little girl. I smiled
and awkwardly walked away, but he followed me. We were all going as a group to the craft cabin, and he came up next to me and asked if I wanted to sit in his lap and ride to the cabin with him. I politely declined. Had managed to avoid him for the rest of the day until I was walking to my mom's car at the end of the day. He came up to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me towards him. You really hurt me today. How would you like it if I hurt you. I ganked my
hand away and walked quickly to the car. I told my MoMA all about it as soon as I got in the car. She immediately drove over to the camp office and spoke with the camp leader about it, who I shared my story with. He assured us that he would take care of it immediately. As we were driving away after the meeting, I saw two counselors go up to the boy and lead them into the camp office. The look on his face looked like he was going to murder someone. I never saw him again after that.
I was told that he was kicked out of the camp and never allowed to return, and for the rest of the week, the camp counselors would check on me and make sure I was okay, so creepy boy from summer camp, and I hope you got your issues worked out and that you're finally living a happy life. Now. This is my first post here. This experience still gives me chills to this day. I actually have a few other camp encounters that I can share if anyone's interested,
mainly occurring along the Appalachian Trail with campers. North Georgia is a mighty interesting place. A few years ago I worked at a Jewish summer camp in North Georgia. As many of you might know, Georgia is a fairly conservative state. As well as being predominantly Christian, there are small Jewish communities and a few summer camps. I'd say this camp was more culturally Jewish than it was religious. There were
no religious requirements nor religion specific focus. Rather, it was a place for kids who were often in the minority to come to a camp that allowed them to meet some other kids like them. Staff came from all over We had many Australians, lots of Brits, a few Israelis, and people from various areas of the USA. Each night, around ten most of the staff was able to go out on the town for a couple of hours. Enough staff remained behind to watch over the cabins we rotated.
In this particular night, a group of about five of us decided to go to a local bar to grab a few beers. It had been a hot day and was a human night, so we decided to sit outside on the patio for some backstory on the town. Generally, we were extremely well received by the community, despite some differences. We brought in lots of revenue for the town During
the summer. We bought supplies at the local walmart and often took the campers on tubing trips or occasionally out to dinner after a long hike on the Appalachian Train. It was midsummer, so we'd been out to the bars in the area many times already. That session, the five of us sat around a table, drinking and discussing the events of the day, as fellow employees typically would after work. About thirty minutes in, a white man in his twenties
came up to our table. I distinctly remember a jagged scar on his cheek, but didn't think much of it at the time. He introduced himself, then told us that he was having a party that night at his place. Anyone can come, he said, black, white, gay, straight. I found it odd that he'd open his speech with that disclaimer. Of course, the party should be open to everyone. Why did he feel the need to specify. But we'd all had a few beers at that point and we're feeling
pretty loose. He talked for a bit longer, and nothing really seemed off. We told him we were working at a camp in the area and couldn't stay out, so we'd probably be heading back soon. An hour later, our group went out to the parking lot to get into the car. As we approached it, we saw the same guy come out of the shadows. He had a buddy with him with a shaved head. His expression was incredibly hateful.
His eyes had changed. He pounded his fist into his hand, then took off his shirt and revealed a poorly inked SS tattoo. My stomach dropped. One of the bigger guys in my group, Kevin, immediately reacted by pulling a knife out of his back pocket, and at summer camp, most of us staff carried knives. We spent a lot of time building campfires and the like, and asked what they wanted the original guy started shouting some anti Semitic remarks and told us he was going to beat us down.
Kevin started walking toward the two guys, but we pulled him back. He told us his buddies were on the way. Sure enough, some more guys started walking into the parking lot. It's all kind of blurry from there. I remember jumping into one of the cars pulling given with us. It felt like we were surrounded, though there were probably only seven or eight of them. Rocks were thrown at the car and we sped off. My heart was beating like crazy.
We never went back to that bar. On the bright side, when we told the story to the competing bar in town, the bartender lined up six shots, cheersed us and said we'd always be welcome in his bar in that town. Had no more problems in the town itself. But when I took some campers up on a two day hike up the Appalachian Trail, that was another story. I began working in a summer camp several years ago. I had a history as a camper at this camp, and I
love the place. By the time I was nineteen, I had done what I never imagined i'd do, and became the camps one and only medic. As medic, I no longer hung out with counselors and the other younger staff as much. If I had free time, I spent it helping out in the kitchen. This year, there was kind of a big turnover and staff O, a longtime cook, moved on from camp, and no one was hired over the year as a replacement, so come summertime we were
scrambling to find someone to cover that position. I met two of the interviewees, one of middle aged woman who, in my humble opinion, seemed like the perfect get it done kind of person you'd need as a cook. The other a tall man mid forties with piercings galore and an a loud, look at me personality. The woman I fancied was not chosen. I think my boss was upset by her surprise when she saw how smaller kitchen was.
Two ovens to feed one hundred and fifty people, and the camp was into juice to our new cook, Chef Vincent. Everybody loved Chef Vincent, except for me. The instant I met him, I got chills down my spine. You know when you hear a strained sound in the dark and your body's screaming at you to run or hide or something. And that's how I felt every second I was in
the meal hall of the kitchen. Soon the places that have been like a second home to me were feeling less comfortable and more get me the fuck out of here. Creepy chef Vincent was abrasive. My first time talking to him. He said something like, that's your medic in response to my color dyed. He he tried to be fancy, but his meals were dull and soggy. After watching him prepare one, I stopped eating them altogether. I don't think the man had gone to school in his life, let alone taking
a food safety course. I survived off an occasional bite of safe food on the table, like packaged crackers and bread, things he hadn't handled directly, and a storage of cheap meal replacement drinks in my room. It sucked. I'm an extremely protective person, especially with my younger co workers who were basically family to me. Jeff Vincent's kitchen staff were sixteen or seventeen year olds, and I was afraid for them. I'd watched from outside the kitchen and talked to them.
Discreetly making sure everything was okay. Honestly, at this point, I was worried that I was being unfair since everybody else loved him. Maybe I was the one beating a creep. But I couldn't get over the comments he made and the way he talked to me. He would touch my shoulder and stand all tall and lean over me when
he talked. He told me about his kids and how they have to stay with their grandma now, and about as many years of experience, which I always suspected were due to being a prison cook or something like that. He was extremely arrogant. I wanted to punch him, to be honest, but eventually I just stopped going in the kitchen and even stayed away from the mess hole unless others were in there with me. If he tried to talk to me, which he did often at night on
the deck, I ignored him and left the room. But I still thought I was being a bitch, to be honest. Then Jeff Vincent told one of the kitchen staff to really molest that in reference to stirring a pot or whatever. One member of the kitchen staff came to me crying about how much he was pushing them in the kitchen.
Soon all three kitchen staff were describing incidents of complete disrespect, his refusal to learn their names, use of inappropriate words, and calling them his little girls and the boy John Jack, Jehovah whatever. This pushed me until I told the boss about how uncomfortable this man made me. I didn't bring the kitchen staff into it, since I advised them to
tell the boss on their own. Then one day a Fellow's staff member came up and said that Chef Vincent said I won't stop following him and that I should be dating him. Confused and angry, I followed up with another staff member who said the chef was talking about the camp dog. Still concerned, I continued with my day. When Chef Vincent came to me and told me the story, laughing with a hand on my shoulder the whole time.
I said, you must really like me. He also made veiled sexual innuendos constantly, oh yeah, I like things hot, and complimented me like more than is appropriate. I got chills every time. Fuck off, dude. This has been going on for a week. In the second week, I'm asleep in the Maddock's cabin. It's got a bedroom separated from the rest of the office by an unlockable door, and I'm the only one who stays there. My nights are long,
lots of sick campers and whatnot. This particular night, it's four a m. And I've finally got into bed after being up for an hour with a sick kid. I'm exhausted and I'm asleep the second my head hits the pillow. Two hours later, I'm awakened by a loud thumping on my door. Usually staff used the walkie talkie to contact me, even at night, but I'm pretty concerned and I crawl out of bed and head to the door. It's Chef Vincent. I hesitate, not wanting to open the door for him,
so he hammers on it again. He looks angry. I'm angry. It's six am. What the fuck does he want? Finally I open the door just a crack, and look out. He's loud. I have to do laundry. My office house is the washer and dryer for the camp because I do laundry when kids with the beds, So every morning laundry is reserved and staff needs to ask me to use it. This particular week, we'd had water problems and
laundry couldn't be done. So I had a lineup of camper things needing to be washed, and here he was six am, demanding to use the thing. When I pointed out the water issues and how camper stuff comes first, he got aggressive and yanked the door open. He's big and intimidating, and I stepped backward to avoid him, and he looked at me and said, I'm the important one around here. I went cold. It was six a m. I had just been told by a creature from the depths that I, who had worked at the camp for
five years, was unimportant compared to him. It's hard to convey body language secondhand, but he was aggressive to the degree that I flew past my usual response to this kind of situation anger and went straight to fearing for my safety. I can be an anxious person, but I don't get genuinely frightened by a lot other than horror movies. So what scared me more was how scared I was.
Hair on end, adrenaline pumping scared. His gaze was absolutely predatory, and there was nothing about his presence that made me think he saw me as more than something to be toyed with. At this point, my mouth was opening, and I knew I'd say something I'd regret saying, especially locked in this building alone with the one man who creeped the shit out of me from the second I'd met him. So I forced out one word okay and backed my way into my room. He watched me the whole time.
I'd go to my room and the tears push behind my eyes, but I'm too tired for them to actually come. I'm tired of this frustration, of this anger, and this fear. I had warned my boss about him. Boss was always saying, listen to your gut, and I was. But did they do anything about it. No. I pushed a chair against the doorknob, not knowing if it actually works to lock doors, like a dozen the movies, and curled up in my bed. I told my boss the following morning, and they called
it inappropriate instead. It wouldn't happen again. But that was all I heard of it. For the next week. I lived in constant anxiety, which meant puking a lot and hiding in my room. When he talked to me, he had a smile that would make even the most daft of people pause for concern. While before this I had attempted to beat polite, I always always left from then on that week or maybe the next, in all blurs together. At this point, all of the staff were upstairs, save
for a few staff monitoring kids in their cabins. I was called over by a fellow upper level staff member who informed me that Chef Vincent had been fired. His police check, which they hadn't decided to do until after he was hired, had come back. He didn't pass his vulnerable sector check aka he was not allowed to work with or volunteer with kids in any capatit due to prior crimes that i'll let you mull over. Camp was effectively on lockdown while he was to vacate the premises.
I lost it. Then tears came and wouldn't stop, and I couldn't breathe. My whole body went fuzzy, and as I was let out of the building by another upper level staff member, where I managed to gargle out something along the lines of he made me so anxious, and no one else saw it. I'm just so relieved. The panic attack lasted for a solid thirty minutes. When I saw him exit the building with his belongings. I hid in my office. When I finally came out, he was gone.
They kept us all under wraps. They didn't tell the kids the cook had gone, didn't tell the parents just in case something had happened. My boss didn't even tell the board of directors. It was a huge liability still is. And while I'm glad that my anxieties about this man were completely justified, I'm filled with anger over the fact that he was hired without a criminal record check and
the fact that my feelings were repeatedly dismissed. Camp went from being the only place in this world where I felt completely safe and comfortable to a strange place where I felt like I was living a nightmare. I felt inadequate and constantly upset. It's funny how having your fears ignored can make you feel like there's something wrong with you. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore, and I quit on account of my mental health so I could see it professional
more often. I still have fears about that man finding me, which I feel is irrational because he never actually abused me or anything. He just made me shit myself in anxiety and was incredibly aggressive and over sexual. My parents joke about it being a cape fear kind of situation, and laughing about it makes it feel better, but only for a little bit. I don't think anyone realizes just how terrified I was. To this day, I still am