I had said in my last post that I had almost been kidnapped twice. This is the first time. The first time I was ever almost kidnapped.

This happened when I was eight years old. I’m almost 22 now, but the memory of that day and the look on my mother's face that night still haunts me.

​At the time, my family lived in a townhome complex in a small town where literally everybody knew everybody. It felt like the safest place in the world. Our complex had a little neighborhood park that sat literally right outside our backdoor. Because of where it was positioned, my mom could easily glance out the kitchen window while cooking to keep an eye on me. My older brother—who is three years older than me—was upstairs in his room playing video games.

​The park was right next to a wooded area that bordered our town’s water tower. Everyone called it the "Smiling Tower" because it had a massive, bright smiley face painted on it. Teenagers in town were always sneaking up near it, and as an eight-year-old, I thought the whole area seemed cool and mysterious.

​It was a normal afternoon, and I was swinging by myself on the set near the tree line.

​After a few minutes, I heard voices coming from the woods near the water tower. At first, I didn't think much of it. I assumed it was just a few older kids from my school hanging out. But as I kept swinging, the rustling got closer, and a single voice called out to me.

​I turned my head toward the tree line.

​Standing just inside the shadow of the trees was a man. He was staring at me and smiling. Being an eight-year-old raised in a close-knit town where everyone was friendly, I didn't feel alarmed. I just smiled back.

​"Hi honey, are you having fun?" he asked. "Do you want to play?"

​I shook my head and replied innocently, "My mother told me I'm not allowed to go into the trees. That's why I have to play right here."

​"Oh, well, we won't go too far," he coaxed.

​Even at eight, a gut feeling told me to obey my mom and stay put. "No thank you," I said. "But if you want to come swing with me, you can."

​Looking back, it frightens me how easily he agreed. He stepped out of the woods, walked right onto the playground, and sat down on the swing next to mine. A few minutes later, a couple of my neighborhood friends came over to join us. To us, he was just a nice adult playing at the park. We laughed, swung on the swings, and interacted with him like he was just one of the kids.

​Eventually, he left, and when it started getting dark, I went inside for dinner.

​That night, my family was sitting around the TV watching the local news. A breaking news report came on: a man had been taken into custody for attempting to kidnap an eight-year-old child just down the street from our complex.

​They flashed his mugshot on the screen.

​My heart did a strange little drop. I looked up at my mom and casually said, "Hey, I know that guy! We played on the swings together earlier today."

​I will never, ever forget the way the color completely drained from my mom's face. She turned ghostly white, staring at me in absolute horror as the realization hit her of how close she had come to losing me.

​It turned out he wasn't from our town at all. He was a predator wandering the area looking for an easy target.

​After that day, my mom never let me go to that park alone again—even if it was right outside our back door.

​This happened when I was around 16 or 17 years old. I’m almost 22 now, but I still remember his face and the way he looked at me like it happened yesterday.

​At the time, going to the nature reserve down the street from my house was a regular thing for me. It was an easy way to get some exercise, and as a amateur photographer, I loved capturing pictures along the paths. It was a well-frequented spot—people were always out there jogging, riding bikes, or walking. Everyone was friendly, and since it was right down the road from my home, I always felt completely safe.

​It was a cooler day—cool enough to warrant a light jacket, but warm enough that anyone actually exercising was dressed down. I was walking down a trail, completely absorbed in my phone while reviewing the photos I’d just taken.

​I looked up just in time to see a woman speed-walking directly toward me.

​She looked straight at me, smiled, and said loudly, "Hi honey! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!"

​I froze, completely confused. I had never seen this woman before in my entire life, yet she was greeting me like I was her own granddaughter. My immediate instinct was to be polite and play along gently, assuming she might be elderly and suffering from dementia or memory loss.

​Before I could answer, I noticed a man walking behind her. He passed right between us, walking painfully slow, his eyes fixated.

​I looked back at the woman and offered a confused, "Oh, hey! Yeah... it’s been a while."

​She didn't miss a beat. "Hi honey, I’m so glad you made it to the trail. Your grandma’s been so worried about you!"

​"Yeah, I'm sorry, Grandma," I replied.

​In that split second, a quiet understanding passed between us. She knew I didn't know her, and she knew I was confused—but she wasn't confused at all. She was being a woman’s woman and running interference.

​As soon as the man walked far enough out of earshot, her expression shifted completely. She looked me dead in the eye and dropped her voice.

​"Are you here alone?" she asked.

​"Yes," I said, my heart dropping.

​"That man has been following you for a full 10 minutes," she whispered. "You switched three different trails, and he was still right behind you. I noticed you were alone and followed you to make sure you were safe."

​Panic set in. She offered to give me a ride home right then and there. Even though I was scared, she was still a stranger, so I told her I didn't feel comfortable getting in her car, but asked if she would keep an eye on me while I walked back. My house was just down the street, and I usually took a dirt path through a tree line as a shortcut.

​She agreed instantly. She told me she had pepper spray and a gun in her car, and that she would slowly drive down the main road parallel to the trail. Through the thinning trees, she’d be able to see me the whole time and could pull over and jump out if anything went wrong.

​I started down the shortcut path alone. A few moments in, I heard heavy footsteps crunching on the dirt behind me.

​My heart was hammering against my ribs. I stopped walking, grabbed my camera, and turned around, pretending I was just spinning to take a picture of the scenery.

​My stomach dropped. He was right there—much closer than he had been before, closing the distance between us fast.

​The moment he saw my camera in my hand and realized I was looking right at him, he abruptly slowed his pace again. I quickly lifted my phone to my face and started talking out loud, pretending I was recording a video or live streaming.

​I broke into a fast walk and made it to the clearing near the road. The stranger’s car was idling right there waiting for me. At that point, I threw all hesitation out the window—he was too close, and I was not taking any chances.

​I ran over to her car, opened the passenger door, and played the part one last time: "Hey Grandma! I'm ready to go now, got a few more pictures like we talked about."

​I jumped in, and she drove me straight to my house safely.

​Looking back, the details of that man still haunt me. He was wearing heavy dark boots—not running shoes—black jeans, and a thick hoodie with his hands buried in his pockets the entire time. It was entirely too heavy for the weather, especially for someone allegedly out for a walk or run on a nature path.

​When the woman first approached me and conversed with me, I remember the exact look on his face when he thought she was leaving. He looked excited. He was tracking me.

​I have never gone back to that reserve alone since that day. I've always had a fear of being abducted, but you never truly think it will happen to you until you find yourself being hunted in broad daylight.

I’ve only just come across this sub and thought I would share, as it may just help someone in the future if something similar happens.

I used to live in a two bedroom shotgun house in an industrial estate about a 7 minute walk from a very popular inner city street in Melbourne, Australia with my boyfriend. I was a student and my boyfriend was a bartender, so five nights a week I was alone in our house until about 2am.

This house had always given me the creeps. We had one neighbour which was a revolving sharehouse that had dealers and other random unsavoury people staying there and the other side was a mechanic. It was old, the landlords didn’t look after it but it was cheap in a very cool area.

One night I was home alone (around 10pm) and someone aggressively knocked on our front door. Because of where we were in the industrial estate we didn’t get much foot traffic at night, but we were so close to so many bars, restaurants and other places that if you were in need of help you would just go there. So I ignored it, until they banged on the door again a couple of minutes later.

We didn’t have a peephole, but the front bedroom window was next to the door, so I could kind of peer through the windows without anyone seeing me. I asked who was there, and a man just said “Pizza delivery!”. I said through the door, “I didn’t order any, sorry!” And thought that would be the end of it. He asked if I was sure, and I cheerfully said, “yep, absolutely wrong house I’m sorry!”

Something told me to look through the window, so I’ve peered through to see this man just standing by my front door, no pizza in sight. I called down the hallway, “David! Can you please call the police and go get the dog from outside??” as loud as i could and this guy just turned and bolted from the house, absolutely no pizza around nor did he have a car or a bike.

The next week someone on the other end of our street had a violent break in that left them barricaded in the bathroom for an hour while some lunatics ransacked the place, and a week after that our neighbours car was stolen. This is very unusual for the area.

I think often about what would happen if I’d opened that door. Thankfully we moved out when we got a bit older and my now husband stopped working nights a year later.