Alright, /x/, here's the story of my ex-roommate whom we'll call 'John.'
He was kind of a dumb ass. And a crackhead. And had a bad habit of eating my food and getting into my shit when I wasn't home. But this fucker had some of the most amazing hookups for weed, and when he wasn't being a completely greedy bastard, it was some of the best smoking I ever did so I was ALMOST willing to let his shit slide before I decided to move out.
We're going to break this story into three pieces as follows:
I) Moving in and meeting John.
II) Meeting the guy John's been getting his weed from
III) Deciding to get the fuck out of there.
Part the first:
The summer after my sophomore year at college I decided I didn't want to keep hiding my smoking from my parents, so I started looking for an apartment and a roommate who wouldn't mind me smoking. I actually kind of met John through a friend of a friend of a friend while talking about hookups, and his name came up. and I was told that he was looking for a new roommate.

Apparently the last one had just kind of skipped town without paying his half of the rent. At the time I thought 'bad karma’ and assumed that the guy was a dick - I think now that I understand what really happened, after living with John for a while. That'll come up later.
When I showed up to take a look at the place and ask about rent and shit. John was outside moving a bunch of his stuff his last roommate had left behind out to the dumpster’. We started chatting up. and I told him I was looking for a place, we talked about my job. then weed, and we went inside and I matched him for some mids and we smoked a couple bowls. I signed some stuff later saying I'd basically stay until late fall and then see where it went from there.
*I thought I saw some useful shit like a lamp or something, so I went back later and kind of picked at the dumpster. The last guy had ditched all sorts of stuff he could have at least sold before taking off - textbooks, etc. I ended up taking a lot of it and selling it, it ended up paying my first month's rent or so.

John was pretty cool at first. He had a pretty consistent supply of sour diesel and some OC kush that smoked like a dream - he claimed that his dealer got his stuff from a bunch of local growers. I didn't really care, he'd sell it to me cheap and I could leave my pieces out in the open without worrying about drama. By the third week we'd settled into a pretty steady routine of getting blazed Wednesday night. I worked Thursday. Friday, wake and bake Saturday, invite some friends over Sunday and smoke, work Monday, then maybe work Tuesday, otherwise just kind of winging it. This is where we move into part two - where shit starts to get weird.
Part Two: Where shit started to go bad.
I started to notice some of my stuff didn't seem like it was staying where I left it, so I set up a camera on the bookshelf in my room. Sure enough. I caught footage of John fucking with my stuff when I was at work. He wasn't taking anything - just coming into my room and touching	my crap. He'd look through my papers, look under my pillow, fool around with the books I had on my desk, all sorts of weird stuff. And I mean he didn't take ANYTHING. Pocket change, money left out,weed, NOTHING. I had no idea what was going on.
but I	didn't confront him about it because I didn't want to deal with the awkwardness. Around this time, I ran into one of the little side annoyances of living with someone who usually has good weed, which is people coming by at weird hours of the night to buy.

A really skinny, anxious looking woman showed up well after midnight one Saturday asking for John. I told her I was his roommate and that he wasn't home (he was out meeting some friends) and she freaked out and asked if she could buy from me. I asked how much she was looking for. thinking weed, but I discovered then she was looking for crack. I freaked out and told her I didn't deal that, and locked the door. Feeling pretty riled up. and thinking I'd already caught him in my room anyway. I ran into John's room. It didn't take long to find evidence that not only was he selling it, he was doing it too. I was pretty freaked out - I've never smoked anything other than weed, not even cigarettes, so this was a pretty big deal for me.
When John got back, sometime around 5 am, I tried to talk to him about the woman that came by. but he was barely understandable, so I just let him just go to his room and pass out.
I went back to my room and locked the door, feeling thoroughly disjointed. I was almost asleep, when I heard something fiddling around with my window. The AC was kind of shit, so I had left my window open a crack with a fan on for a breeze. When I looked up. someone was hunched next to the sill, fucking with the screen like they were trying to get in. I shouted and threw a book, and they ran off. I went out to the kitchen window to see if I could get a look at them as they took off. and I kind of regret it. Whoever it was. they were apparently naked. I saw someone pale and boney tearing off between the cars and into the bushes across from the apartment. I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

When John finally woke up. I confronted him about the woman and the weird naked guy trying to get into my window (I assumed it was another desperate crack head). I had a hard time staying angry at him because he got genuinely sorry, begging me not to leave because I was a great roommate, saying he'd buy me an ounce of strawberry cough to make up for the trouble, so I said fine. He told me he'd been trying to quit the	crack for a while and didn't even sell it anymore, and that anyone who showed up in the night was probably just really, really hard up for a fix or else they wouldn't have even thought of him. Then he said he'd introduce me to his dealer on Saturday, which brings us to part three.
Part three: This is when I started to realize that I needed to get out of there, even if it meant moving back in with my parents or just being fucking homeless.
That Saturday, his dealer - who we'll call Louis - came over. He was a really clean, well spoken white guy in his 40's. Really neatly cut hair, clean skin. etc. He brought some hash in addition to the weed, then just watched us smoke it. I felt really weird just smoking while he watched - he constantly smiled really weird. When I asked if he wanted to smoke at all. he explained that he didn't smoke his own product.
He did this awkward little wink (which made me feel really creepy) as he told me that he was into something a lot more exciting, and that he'd been screening John for a while to see if he was ready to get in on the game. "I'd tell you more, but you could get in trouble just for hearing about it, so we'll see if you're right for it as time goes by."

I started to feel really shady about the whole set up. Granted. I smoked myself retarded that night but in the morning I decided that I wasn't going to smoke ANYTHING for a while. I handed my whole stash over to John, told him I was going to take a t-break because I wanted to look for a new job. and started taking more video.
John didn't come into my room for several days - at this point it was late summer - and when I finally caught him in my room, it wasn't on film.
I woke up in the middle of the night with him crouched next to my bed. fucking trying to cut off a piece of my hair. I clocked him in the face and pinned him to the floor, after knocking the scissors out of his hands. He didn't even fight, he just burst into sobs and I realized that he was wasted. He started blubbering and apologizing, and kept calling me the wrong name. Then I started to feel really fucked up. He said something along the lines of. I'm so sorry (Keith?), I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'm so sorry,'just apologizing over and over. He said something about being in too deep and how he was so scared. I tried to calmly suggest maybe getting help, trying to settle him down, and he started making this fucked up keening, screechy sound, saying no one could save him, that he was damned.
At this point he leaned over and puked all over the carpet next to my bed. and passed out. I dragged him into his own room, then came back to clean up the floor in mine.
The twin bed in my room had been there since I moved in -1 just put a new mattress pad and sheets on it. There were also some boxes of notebooks and shit that had been there before but I still hadn't bothered to dig through. I moved them to clean up the vomit, and noticed something under the bed. I lifted the box spring to get a better look, and got the really pleasant surprise of seeing an uneven red-brown stain about the length of the bed. It looked pretty obviously like blood.

Someone smarter might have called the police and just taken off. but I was afraid of just calling the cops on a red stain in my room, not to mention the fact that there was weed and pipes and shit all over the apartment - and the crack in John's room. I grabbed my keys. I was about to leave, but as I	stood in the front doorway. I stopped to listen - there was someone fooling around in the darkness under the carport. There was a weird kind of scuttling noise coming from the direction of my truck. I shouted into the dark and this time not one. but two naked looking fuckers tore out of the shadows into the bushes.
I pussied out and went back inside - which turned out to be the best course of action, when I went back a few hours later when it was light out. they'd disconnected a bunch of shit from my engine and stolen some parts.
Unfortunately for me. most of my good friends in the area were out of town on vacation, and due to a messed up relationship with my parents. I didn't want to call them and ask them to come pick me up. But I HAD to get out of there.
When John woke up, he didn't seem to remember the night before. I told him	about my truck, and he got all freaked out and apologetic again. He helped me find a number for a towing company, then offered to drive me to the repair place.

I got really nervous when I realized that we were driving in an odd direction, and he said that he wanted to stop by Louis's place real quick to buy something for some friends. I should probably mention that I hadn't seen any of John's friends at the apartments for a few days - it'd mostly been him driving out to hang out with other people, whom I never saw.
I asked him who Keith was. and he got really uncomfortable and said it was his last roommate. I asked him if he knew why he just left, and he shrugged and didn't answer. His phone went off. and I gathered from what I heard on my end that he was talking to Louis.
When he hung up. he pulled off on the side of the road, and didn't look at me. I asked if anything was wrong, and he started fiddling around with the door pocket on his side. When he turned back, he had a big knife, and looked really fucked up - had a weird smile on his face. I'm really sorry about this man.'
Before he could even move. I clocked him for the second time, grabbed the knife, then booked it out the passenger side. I was in a weird neighborhood I didn't recognize, and I was terrified - running through people's backyards, jumping fences, clutching this big ass knife that I was determined not to lose because it was evidence.

Someone apparently saw me and called the cops, because I got picked up pretty quick. I explained the situation as calmly as I could. The cop that picked me up took me back to the apartment,	and	I	let	him in. letting	him walk in front of me. I could see him looking all over at all the weed shit, but when I showed him the stain under my mattress, he got really serious and told me that I'd need to come with him to the station.
In the end I moved back in with my parents for a month or two, and they paid for a lawyer for me - because my	room was basically spotless drug wise, so I didn't get any flack for that.	I	never	heard	anything more about Louis, but I did find	out about the blood in my room. Apparently, it was a match for Keith, who was missing. John got taken in on suspicion of murder (along with a lot of drug charges) and last I heard, he killed himself in his cell.
The police kept the knife, and they never found my camera - it was gone from the apartment. To this day. I have no idea what happened to it.

I swear I saw one of those naked fuckers lurking outside the house a few weeks after the trial was up. but I can't be sure. I was sober after that first night with Louis, and it's still really rare for me to light up at all. even with close friends.
No moral or anything. I just guess the lesson I learned was that if I have to choose between smoking in the open and living with my parents in my 20's, if it means a threat to my life. I'm going to deal with paying rent to my ‘rents.
That's my story, /x/philes
Peace.