I originally posted this story (verbatim) on another website, under the user name I used there, the better part of a year ago. The story is mine, so I don't see a problem posting it here in that regard. Nor do I mind that it allows someone with the time and the interest to link my profile on this site to my profile on that one. However, if my having posted this story there first disqualifies it for posting here, please delete it or let me know and I will delete it. In the mean time, here is the story.
One of the creepiest events in my own experience that I can recall happened when I was about 9 years old, late 1978 or early 1979 if I am not mistaken, which would have put me in 4th grade at the time.
Just a bit of background information on my school here. It was a newer school for my district at the time, and I guess as an experiment in innovative architecture, the school had no square angles in the walls at all. Rather, for simplicity's sake, imagine a 'U' shape where the opening of the 'U' faces onto the parking lot, but where there were hexagons attached to the outer edge of the 'U'. Each of those hexagons was called a pod, and each pod was divided into 6 classrooms and one central area for that pod, from which a person could see into any of the 6 classrooms at one time.
The playground was the entire area outside the 'U' shaped collection of pods, first being blacktop and then, further out, grassy field. Critically, this meant that, if you were very close to the pods, it was possible for someone else, also close to the pods, to be within 20 feet of you and still be hidden around the bend of the wall.
So on this day in 1978 or 1979, my school had open house / parent-teacher conferences. This was when parents were welcome to come to the school and talk with one another and especially with their children's teacher(s), and to see how their child or children were performing in school. My mom never missed one of these, and this day was no exception. We went to the school and saw all the teachers and kids and parents gathered in the cafeteria. After whatever general address the principal had to make, everyone went their separate ways to meet one-on-one.
My mom had teachers to meet for two children, for me and my older brother, who was one year ahead of me. When we met my teacher, Mrs. Holbrooke, my mom brought me and my brother into the classroom. She apparently had good things to say about me, and we were done quickly. But when we met my older brother's teacher, Mister Covey, for some reason my mom told me to go out on the playground and play. My brother remained in the classroom with my mom and his teacher.
It was still light outside, so all seemed OK. However, by this time, an hour or more had probably passed since the principal's speech ended. Any parents who attended only for that or who only wanted to meet a single teacher briefly had done so by now and left. The playground area was devoid of people. Naive little boy that I was, I just walked around the pods like I was in my own house, and I stayed close to the outer wall of the pods for no real reason.
All of a sudden, without hearing or seeing anything to prepare me for what was about to happen, I was pinched across the back of the neck very hard. The hand that held me seemed too strong for me to break away, and I didn't even have time to try before a voice whispered in my ear to stay still and not turn around. I nodded as best I could. Then the voice told me to walk, and it led me around the pod to within sight of the parking lot where a few cars remained.
The voice asked me if I saw the green car, the station wagon with wooden paneling on it. I did and indicated so. The voice told me, "Walk to that car, get inside, and wait there. Do not turn around. I will be right behind you, and if you turn around, I will know you did it. Do you understand me?" All the while, the owner of the hand and of the harsh whisper squeezed my neck harder at intervals to add emphasis to certain points.
The person then sent me walking to that car. I think I know how the condemned, "dead man walking," must feel. I was a naive boy, but not so naive as to believe getting in that car was a good idea. On the other hand, I felt sure that turning around was death if the owner of that voice was really still there. I had gotten halfway to the car when I wound up freezing, unsure what to do. I just stood there crying, which was already an improvement over the extremity of fear that preceded it.
I don't know if I stood there seconds or minutes, but eventually I turned around. Nobody was there. I figured they were back around the pod, peeking, waiting. But my mom was that direction also. So I swung way out into the playground area and walked carefully back around. Somewhere near where I was originally pinched were 2 boys a year ahead of me, my older brother's age, playing marbles. Roger and another boy whose name I never knew.
I avoided them, feeling sure they (Roger, particularly) were probably the ones who had pinched me. But I am sure at some point they noticed me passing them at a distance. They did not react at all. In fact my brother talked about Roger much later, by chance, in terms that cause me to believe he was a nice guy. Probably as importantly, later reflection lead me to consider the whispered voice and the powerful hand to most likely have belonged to an adult male, not to a fellow child.
But why did that fool want me in Mr. Covey's car? Mr. Covey was in a conference with my mom, so it was not his doing. My only other guess was my 3rd grade teacher, Dr. Scofield, who had once grabbed me violently when I got up from my chair in class without permission while he was in a bad mood. That dude was eventually arrested in 1980 on suspicion of having molested 4 boys earlier the same year, a year after my traumatic experience on the playground.
I'll never know for sure. But I will always wonder who it was.