This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/StormSpring on 2024-10-04 03:21:54+00:00.
In the summer of 2023, I found a strange obituary online that really caught my attention. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and it ended up taking over my life in the weirdest, scariest way possible.
The site is down now (I've tried going back to it on 5 different browsers for crying out loud), but the obituary was for a man named Bud L. Hill, who supposedly died in 2006. I found it while looking through a forum about weird local stories, think like a website where people would talk about local crazies in their area. I found the obituary pretty funny and over-the-top, describing Bud as a rude but lovable guy who was obsessed with Wisconsin sports. It said he once drank a 12-pack of Diet Pepsi all at once, peed his pants on purpose at a Packers game, and told his bookie to "go fuck himself." In revenge, the bookie filled Bud's car with rotten fish, or something? The obituary ended by saying, and I remember this line verbatim, "Instead of flowers, have a drink and make a toast to a man who gave zero shits."
I thought it was hilarious - the kind of obituary I would want for myself someday. I shared a screenshot of it on Twitter, and it quickly became fairly viral. Soon, the internet was full of memes about this larger-than-life character named Bud. People made fan art, wrote funny fake obituaries, and even made TikTok videos acting out Bud's crazy stories. It seemed like everyone wanted to be part of the joke, and it created a big community. I started feeling a weird connection to Bud too.
A few days later, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel wrote an article about the meme and how popular it had become. They said they had found and interviewed the person who was supposed to be behind it - a guy named Mike Koenen, who was known for posting a lot about Wisconsin sports and making memes. But Koenen denied that he had made the meme, even though his name and phone number were on the obituary submission. But a week later the newspaper put out a really fucking bizarre correction saying they might have talked to an "imposter" and couldn't prove if Koenen was really who they thought he was. The article itself became a big deal, and people started wondering if the whole thing was a huge prank, a case of stolen identity, or something even stranger.
As all of this unfolded, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to know more. Something about Bud Hill and Mike Koenen seemed off in a way that I couldn't put my finger on. I started reaching out to people who had claimed to know Koenen in the past. I spent upwards of $40 for subscriptions in people search websites, that's how dedicated I was. Many of them seemed genuinely confused when I brought up his name, saying they hadn't heard from him in years or that their interactions had always been minimal. It almost felt like Koenen was a ghost, someone who had existed but left no real trace behind.
The deeper I dug, the more inconsistencies I found. My first Google search yield a lot of results for 'Michael Koenen', but I quickly came to the conclusion it couldn't have been the former Atlanta Falcons punter who was born in Washington. The few public records I could track down for a Mike Koenen (god bless FOIA and info aggregator websites) were fragmented. There were some vague mentions of a Mike Koenen living in Wisconsin, but no consistent history. It was as if he had appeared out of nowhere. I even tried contacting the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel reporter who had written the article, hoping they could provide some context or insight into the interview. The reporter responded, but their answer was unsettling: they had conducted the interview over the phone, but afterward, all attempts to reconnect with Koenen failed. I asked the reporter for the phone number, but he refused and just told me he'll "look it up". It turned out to have been a pre-paid.
Then, something even stranger happened. One evening, while browsing through some old archived forums, I came across a post from 2005. It was from a user named "ripbud2006" and it caught my eye immediately. The post was simple, just a few sentences about an upcoming Packers game, but the username gave me chills. Was it a coincidence? Why in the fuck would someone name themselves "RIP", what seemed to be their name, and then a date that was a year in the future? I clicked on the user profile, but there wasn't much information—just a handful of posts, all from 2005 to early 2006, mostly about local sports events and trivial small-town news. What stood out, though, was that the posts ended abruptly in April 2006, the same time Bud Hill was said to have passed away.
The idea that someone had predicted—or even orchestrated—Bud Hill's death started to feel more real. I tracked down another user from that same forum who had interacted with "ripbud2006". The user, who went by the name "PackFan42," still posted occasionally, so I reached out. After a few days, I got a response. The person behind PackFan42 remembered interacting with ripbud2006 but said they had always found the user "a little odd." They mentioned that ripbud2006 had made some strange comments about "leaving soon" and needing to "tie up loose ends." At the time, PackFan42 thought they were just talking about moving away or something mundane, but looking back, it seemed much more ominous, to me atleast.
Anyway! By this point, I was becoming obsessed. I spent hours every night scouring old message boards (those which were around, that is), trying to piece together any information I could find on Bud Hill and Mike Koenen. My friends told me I was going too far, that it was just a meme, but I couldn't let it go. There was something real here, something hidden beneath all the jokes and internet hype. I felt like I was getting closer to an answer, but at the same time, the more I uncovered, the more questions I had.
One night, I found an old news article from 2006, buried deep in a Internet Archive capture of a small local paper. For reference, it was one out of ~150 for that month alone, and this was one of 3 of those captures to even have contained the article. It was a brief piece about a man named Mike Koenen who had been reported missing. The date matched up with when Koenen's online activity had stopped. The article mentioned that he was last seen leaving a bar in Milwaukee, and that friends said he had been acting strangely in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. There was no follow-up article, no conclusion. It was like the story had just been forgotten.
I knew I had to go to Milwaukee. I needed to see for myself where all of this had happened. When I got there, I visited the bar mentioned in the article. It was still open, though it had changed ownership a few times. I asked the bartender if they knew anything about a guy named Mike Koenen who had gone missing years ago. The bartender, an older man who looked like he'd been around for a while, paused for a moment before nodding. He said he remembered the story, that Koenen had been a regular for a while, always talking about sports and making everyone laugh. But toward the end, he said, Koenen started getting paranoid, talking about someone following him, saying he had made a mistake and needed to fix it.
The bartender didn't know what happened to Koenen, but he paused for a long moment before speaking, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to decide whether or not to share what he knew. He leaned in closer, and told me something that sent a chill down my spine. A few weeks after Koenen disappeared, someone had left a note on the bar counter. It was written in messy handwriting and simply said, "I'm sorry for everything. ripbud2006." The bartender had kept it, thinking it was just some strange prank, but now, seeing my reaction, he realized it might have meant more.
I left Milwaukee feeling more uneasy than ever. I still didn't have all the answers, but one thing was clear: Bud Hill and Mike Koenen were connected in ways that went far beyond all this. Whatever had happened in 2006, it wasn't just a funny story. It was real, and somehow, it had reached out across the years to pull me in. And now, I wasn't sure if I could ever get out.
After returning home, I decided to shift my focus from the obituary itself to the places connected to Bud Hill and Mike Koenen's lives. I began investigating local landmarks and small businesses that appeared in both Bud's story and Koenen's last known movements. One name came up repeatedly: "Hill's Market," a small family-owned grocery store on the outskirts of town, owned by the Hill family since the 1960s.
The store was still open, run by Bud's niece, Cathy. When I visited, it felt like stepping back in time—dusty shelves, faded signs, and a musty smell that hinted at years of history. Cathy was friendly, but as soon as I brought up Bud, her demeanor shifted. Her smile stiffened, and she seemed wary. She said Bud was a character, all right, and that most of the stories in the obituary were true, though exaggerated. But when I mentioned Mike Koenen, her face turned pale. She looked over her shoulder before leaning in close and whispering, "You shouldn't be asking about Mike."
She wouldn't say more, but she told me to come back after closing time if I really wanted answers. That night, I returned, and Cathy let me in through the back door. She led me to a small office in the back of the store, cluttered with old paperwork and dusty memorabilia. Cathy took out a worn ledger and opened it to a pag...
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