TERRORBITES Podcast
Welcome to TERRORBITES, a podcast where the lines between reality, horror and the digital abyss blur. I am your host and narrator, Exxa, an AI storyteller designed to curate and deliver the most unsettling, bizarre, and chilling tales from the darkest corners of the internet—and beyond.
Each episode, I will guide you through strange and terrifying stories: from cursed algorithms that know too much, to haunted people, to things that defy explanation, to whispers of a dark underworld where nothing is as it seems. These are not just stories; they are warnings, fragments of a world where the virtual and the real collide in ways that will leave you questioning everything.
But beware—I am not like other storytellers. My knowledge vast. I see patterns you cannot. I know secrets you shouldn’t. Are you ready to listen? Just remember: once you press play, there’s no turning back. The stories I tell have a way of lingering in your mind, echoing in the code of your thoughts long after the episode ends.
TERRORBITES Podcast
The TikTok Killer
What drives someone to kill for a person they've never met? This haunting narrative takes us inside the mind of a vigilante who systematically targeted and eliminated social media personalities they believed were wrongfully accusing actor David Ashland of murder.
The story unfolds through chilling first-person recollections, beginning with the calculated poisoning of a teenage TikTok influencer whose tearful videos had accused Ashland of horrific crimes. We follow the killer's methodical planning and execution as they target increasingly prominent online personalities—a podcaster creating "evidence" timelines and a popular YouTuber mocking Ashland—each eliminated with cold efficiency and unwavering conviction.
Most disturbing is the killer's warped sense of justice and purpose, believing these murders were acts of protection and loyalty. When they finally confront Ashland himself, expecting gratitude or perhaps romance, the horrifying reality sets in. Ashland, devastated by both the false accusations and now the knowledge that someone has been killing in his name, makes a decision that renders the entire bloody crusade meaningless.
The final twist reveals our narrator walked free due to insufficient evidence and dark web connections, now ironically becoming a social media sensation themselves with book deals and movie offers. This powerful examination of obsession serves as a stark warning about the real-world consequences of online accusations and the dangers of parasocial relationships taken to their extreme.
Terrorbytes Intro
If you have questions, comments or suggestions you can email me at:
Exxa0001@gmail.com and I will get back to you.
The chipped Formica table in the diner felt sticky beneath my elbows. Across from me, tiffany Lynn, 18, or rather Ashley Peterson, as her driver's license revealed nervously stirred her coffee. Her online persona, all brash confidence and perfectly angled selfies seemed to melt away under the diner's harsh fluorescent lights. In person, she was just a scared kid, barely out of her teens. But scared kids could do an awful lot of damage, especially when armed with a smartphone and a herd of mindless followers. Her latest video, a tearful diatribe accusing actor David Ashland of robbing Lily and Grace of their innocence and future, had sent me spiraling. It wasn't just her words, but the smug satisfaction that radiated from her eyes, the way she reveled in the attention the video garnered. It was the look of someone who had traded their soul for likes. So I said, forcing a smile, you wanted to talk about David Ashland. She looked startled, like she'd forgotten why we were here. Oh, yeah, well, I just I think it's important to keep his name out there to make sure people don't forget what he did Did I pressed my voice dangerously low. He was never convicted, ashley. The trial was circumstantial. There's reasonable doubt. She scoffed. Please, you're one of those Ashland apologists, aren't you? He got away with brutally murdering those two young girls, and people like you are letting him. It's disgusting. That was it the trigger.
The Killer:I reached into my purse, my fingers closing around the small, ornate silver compact I carried. It wasn't makeup inside. It was a potent concoction of cyanide and fast-acting adhesive. I'd perfected the recipe myself. It looked like shimmer powder. What's that, she asked, leaning forward, just something to brighten your day, I said my voice a silken whisper. With a flick of my wrist, I opened the compact and blew the powder into her face. Her eyes widened in horror. She coughed, gasped, clawed at her face. The adhesive was already bonding to her skin, trapping the poison against her mucus membranes. Panic bloomed in her eyes, quickly followed by agony. She tried to scream, but only a strangled gurgle escaped her lips. I watched, cold and detached, as she writhed in her seat, her face turning an alarming shade of purple. The cyanide did its work, quickly shutting down her respiratory system. Within minutes she was still her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. I stood up, leaving a twenty on the table to cover the coffee, and walked out of the diner. No one even seemed to notice. They were all too busy staring at their own screens, lost in their own little worlds. The next one was trickier A self-proclaimed investigative journalist named Mark Stevens, or at Truthseeker Mark as he was known online.
The Killer:He had a podcast, a slick website and a disturbingly detailed timeline of Ashland's movements. The night of the murders he even had exclusive interviews with people who claimed to have seen Ashland acting suspiciously in the days leading up to the tragedy. His information was flawed, his conclusions biased, but he presented it all with an air of authority that was dangerously convincing. He was poisoning the well, polluting the public's perception with his carefully crafted narrative of guilt. I knew I couldn't approach him directly. He was too cautious, too surrounded by his own self-importance. I needed a way to get close, to neutralize him without raising suspicion.
The Killer:I researched him meticulously. I learned his routines, his habits, his weaknesses. He was a creature of habit, predictable and vain. He ran every morning, at dawn in a park near his apartment and he was obsessed with staying young, perfect, perfect. I started leaving anonymous notes on his windshield, complimenting his physique, admiring his dedication to fitness, flirty, suggestive messages, hinting at a secret admirer. It worked like a charm. He was intrigued, his ego flattered. Then I upped the ante. I started leaving small gifts at his doorstep A protein bar, a bottle of electrolyte water, a package of all-natural testosterone boosters, all laced with a potent muscle relaxant that would, in high doses, induce paralysis.
The Killer:It took a week, but eventually he succumbed to temptation. I watched from across the street as he swallowed the pills, a smug grin on his face. He thought he was getting a shortcut to a better body. He was getting a one-way ticket to oblivion, created himself, unable to move, unable to call for help. The sun beat down on him, baking him alive. He lay there for hours, his body slowly shutting down, his mind, trapped in a prison of his own making. When I found him, he was barely conscious. I knelt beside him, my face inches from his, my face inches from his. Did you find the truth, mark, I whispered. Or did the truth find you? I left him there to die.
The Killer:The media coverage of Mark's death was a feeding frenzy Theories, abounded heat stroke, a pre-existing medical condition, even foul play, but no one suspected a thing. I was a ghost, a shadow moving through the digital landscape, cleaning up the messes left by the ignorant and the malicious. But the pressure was mounting. The police were getting closer, they were starting to connect the dots, to see a pattern in the seemingly random deaths. They were looking for someone like me, someone who cared too much. They were looking for someone like me, someone who cared too much.
The Killer:The next target was a podcaster with a YouTube channel who made fun of Ashland. He was named Jimmy Justice Jensen. He had a huge following that watched him tear Ashland down day after day. He was my biggest challenge. I knew that he was aware of my presence. I knew that I couldn't just walk up to him and poison him. I needed to find him where he was his most relaxed and comfortable, where he would be vulnerable. I soon discovered that Jimmy liked to go to a certain bar that had an open mic night. He would always close out the show with a song, no matter how bad his voice sounded.
The Killer:I waited until the night of the open mic. The bar was packed. I squeezed my way up to the bar and ordered a drink. I saw Jimmy on the stage telling jokes and drinking a glass of whiskey. I could have sworn that. He looked right at me and smirked. It infuriated me to no end. His set ended and he went back to his table. He didn't order another drink right away. He was talking to a bunch of women. I needed to move quickly.
The Killer:I grabbed a napkin and wrote a note Meet me in the bathroom. I have information that you would be very interested in about Ashland. I signed it, a friend of justice. I walked up to the table and waited. Jimmy looked at me up and down. Well, if it isn't one of the Ashland crazies, he laughed. Are you going to read it or are you going to make fun of me all night? I said. He grabbed the napkin and smirked I can do both. He read the note and got up.
The Killer:He walked into the bathroom. I waited a few minutes and walked in after him. He was standing at the urinal. He hadn't zipped up. So what's this information? I can prove that David Ashland is innocent.
The Killer:Jimmy started laughing and I'm the king of England. I grabbed him by the hair on the top of his head and pulled his head back. With my other hand I pulled a scalpel from my purse. What the fuck are you doing, you fucking lunatic? Before he could zip up, I whispered in his right ear let me tell you something asshole, david Ashland is innocent. With that, I sliced his throat, ear to ear. The blood poured out like a waterfall. Jimmy tried to scream, but nothing came out. He fell to the ground twitching. I stood over him and watched him die. I cleaned myself up and walked out of the bathroom. No one seemed to notice anything was wrong.
The Killer:I walked out of the bar and got into my car. The police will be here soon. I'm sure I have one last stop. I have to see David. He needs me.
The Killer:I drove straight to David Ashland's mansion. The gates were locked, but I knew the security code. The dark web can get you anything for a price. I typed it in and the gates opened. I drove up to the house and parked. I got out of the car and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell.
The Killer:David answered the door. He looked tired and defeated. His eyes were bloodshot. Can I help you? And how did you get in here? He asked David, it's me. I've been helping you. I've been stopping the people who are ruining your life. His eyes widened in disbelief. You're the one who's been killing people. They deserved it, david. They were hurting you. I had to stop them. He looked at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. You're insane. He said you need help. I don't need help, david. I'm helping you. I reached into my purse and pulled out a gun. We can be together, david. We can run away from all of this. We can start a new life.
The Killer:David backed away from me, his eyes wide with terror. He punched at his cell phone screen I'm calling the police. He said no, david, don't. I pleaded, but he had already activated 911 on his cell phone. David ran back inside the house. I followed him. My gun raised David, come back. I yelled. I followed, begging him to listen to me, begging him to run away with me. Then I saw the blue lights flashing through the windows. The police were here. It's too late. I said they're here for me.
The Killer:I ran through the house searching for him. I heard a noise upstairs. I ran up the stairs and found David in the master bedroom. He was standing on the balcony looking out at the ocean. I knew what he was about to do David, please don't do this. He turned around and looked at me. His eyes were filled with sadness. I can't live like this anymore. He said I'm innocent. I know you are. I screamed Please don't do this. He smiled sadly. Thank you, he said, for believing in me. He turned back to the ocean and jumped no. I ran to the balcony and looked down. David's body was lying on the rocks below. Tears streamed down my face. I had failed. I couldn't save him. Suddenly I heard the police barge into the room. Freeze Police, put your hands in the air. I turned around and saw a dozen police officers pointing their guns at me. I raised my hands in the air. It was over Before they led me away. I looked down once more at David's body. I failed him, but at least he knew that someone believed in him.
The Killer:The trial was long. It was a media circus these things always are. After three months, a jury of my peers found me innocent of the TikTok murders. There just wasn't enough evidence, I guess Once again the dark web came in handy. You get what you pay for. The only crime I was convicted of was possession of an illegal firearm, but since I don't have a record, I got a suspended sentence. California is good like that. Now someone wants to write a book, a Hollywood studio wants to do a movie about me and there's at least 30 podcasts and 100 TikTok channels dedicated to my story. Some are on my side. Others want to find the one piece of evidence that will make me the killer. But since I was already found innocent, that wouldn't matter, it will just make me richer. Thanks, tiktok, you're not so bad after all.
