So this whole saga began when I matched with a guy on Tinder. For background, I’m a 19 year old female college student. He was attractive, witty and seemed kind in our messages, so when he asked me out, I didn’t hesitate. He suggested I get drunk before our date (pre-game) and then he’d pick me up at my dorm parking lot and drive me to his place. I thought that was a little odd but I really liked the guy so I agreed.
He arrived to pick me up in a car that seemed well-kept. He matched his profile pictures perfectly, which put me at ease. We had a light and enjoyable conversation as we drove, and he was really charming. About ten minutes in, he handed me a flask of vodka, encouraging me to continue my ‘pre-game’ before we reached our destination. I was already a little drunk at this point but I figured why not.
However, my initial comfort began to fade as the car ride just went on and on. I was enjoying flirting with this guy but it felt like we were in the car for an hour, way longer than he said. I realized we were driving further away from the city. The landscape became more rural and isolated, which I thought was odd because he said he lived “close by.” Several times, I asked him where we were heading, but he just smiled and told me it was a surprise, insisting I would love it.
We eventually arrived at this weird, big old house, hidden deep in the woods at the end of a dirt trail. It looked large and imposing, with an air of neglect, like abandoned or something. The windows were dark, and parts of the exterior seemed to be peeling away. He seemed to sense my hesitation and quickly ushered me inside, explaining that the house was in the process of renovation.
Inside, the house was even more disorienting. The layout was convoluted, with hallways branching off in multiple directions and rooms that seemed only half-finished. Some areas were blocked off with plastic sheeting, and tools were scattered around. He rushed me upstairs, navigating the complex layout with ease, and insisting that I don’t wander anywhere because the house is under renovation.
Once in his room, things started to escalate quickly and we were making out on his bed. However, a sinking feeling in my gut made me realize my phone was missing. He casually dismissed my concerns, saying it will probably turn up or something like that. That’s when I started to sober up and feel a real sense of danger. I wanted to get OUT of this place, like immediately.
I made up an excuse about needing the bathroom. Instead, I attempted to retrace our steps. The house was a labyrinth, with corridors that seemed to twist and turn on themselves. I came across a set of spiral stairs I didn’t remember seeing before, leading down into a lower level that felt excessively deep for a typical house. The lower level was dimly lit and had an oppressive atmosphere. There was an old, musty smell, and the air felt heavy. In the corner, a big heavy basement door caught my attention. Initially, I heard faint banging sounds coming from it, which I tried to dismiss as just house noises. But then, amidst the banging, I heard something that made my blood run cold - a muffled but unmistakable sound of a female screaming.
Frozen with fear, I saw a shadowy figure of a large man rising from a recliner at the far end of the room. In a moment of sheer panic, I turned and ran as fast as I could, somehow finding a door to the outside and escaping into the woods surrounding the house.
After what felt like hours of running, I emerged onto a road and was lucky enough to flag down a car. The driver immediately sensed my distress and called 911.
At the police station, my ordeal continued. An older male cop listened to my story with visible skepticism. He interrogated me, suggesting that I was either lying or had misinterpreted the situation. He accused me of reckless behavior for going to a stranger’s house and implied that I was under the influence of drugs. He literally said I behaved like a “harlot” and that he’s heard plenty of “tall tales” from “ladies like me.” He interrogated me for like an hour, poking holes in every part of my story. He said the sounds I heard were probably just the house settling and that I’m on edge because I’m drunk and on drugs. He even went as far as to warn me about the legal ramifications of filing a false police report. He said they’ll do their best to investigate my report, but that if they find any discrepancies, they won’t hesistate to charge me for filing a false report which is a felony offense in my state.
Now, I’m haunted by doubt. Was I just imagining things? Perhaps the sounds were just the house settling, and the man in the recliner was his roommate or a construction worker. AITA for involving the police based on what might have been just my fears and imagination?