Let me preface by saying this; I know the situation I’m in is completely my fault. I know I brought this upon myself and I can’t tell you how absolutely upset I am with myself or how much I hate myself right now. This is stupid shit. I really thought I was smarter than this. I guess not. Whatever happens to me is my own fucking fault, I guess. Whatever.
This is what happened and if anyone has any ideas on what to do, please comment.
I moved into an old building in a big city at the beginning of the pandemic. COVID rental prices were sweet and low, so I snagged a one-bedroom on the first floor that was decently sized in a really nice part of the city. Next to the subway and everything. Beautiful park just outside. This kind of location for this price is unheard of now, in 2023. Because the building is old (1930ish), the unit is also much bigger than more modern condos make their one-bedrooms, by about 200 square feet. The apartment building itself is small too. Only 4 floors and 8 units on each floor.
I ran like heck to get a bank draft to secure the unit. When I got it, I felt like the luckiest girl in the city, like I’d somehow beaten the impossible rental situation of this particular city. This was coming off of an ex-roommate trying to scam me out of 3 months of rent in our old 2-bedroom (never assume responsibility for someone else’s rent- e.g. only your name on the lease, relying on them to send you their portion of the rent instead of directly to the landlord, etc.), so I felt like karma was finally switching around.
I work part-time at a bookstore while in school, so money is tight. My dad sometimes sends me a little bit of money to “make sure I’m having fun”. He’s the best and I love him so so much. I thought about telling him what’s going on, but he’s a 4 hour plane ride away and has a heart condition. So yeah, no way I’m putting this on him.
So here we go.
My apartment building has one handyman, Manny. He’s amazingly nice and hardworking, and you call his number directly if you need something fixed. A while ago, I realized the blinds in my bedroom window were crooked and not closing all the way on the right side. I called Manny and he promised to take a look at them, but then never heard back. That’s the double-edged sword of having one handyman informally in charge of an entire building- the less important stuff slips through the cracks. Besides, I could pull the blinds down manually to close them. I didn’t like doing this because they were grimier to the touch than expected, so usually, I left them crooked with a bit of sunlight peeking through.
I left them like this for about a month or maybe more, I don’t really know. They just stayed crooked and it wasn’t a big deal.
Daylight savings came in March. With the sun rising an hour earlier, it disrupted my sleeping habits. I pulled the blinds closed and didn’t think anything of it.
Two days later I got a letter in my mailbox.
It was a normal-looking envelope. I was mildly surprised to see my name. In these buildings with a high turnover of tenants, it’s not unusual to receive other former tenants’ phone bills or flyers. I figured maybe it was Dad, or something from my workplace or university. I opened it right there in the mailroom.
A funny feeling dropped in my stomach when I opened the note. It was three words scrawled over ruled paper in black ink. I reread it, trying to make it make sense. A cold feeling took over me.
LEAVE THEM OPEN
I crumpled up the note and dropped it in the garbage. Then I turned my key in the knob and entered my building.
I cuddled my cat (I have two, only one likes cuddles) on the couch and tried to slow down my breathing. Quickly, I started rationalizing. This person is clearly crazy, whoever they are. Crazy people aren’t capable of stuff like breaking into apartment buildings. I always lock my doors. I have neighbors who would hear a home invasion and come help me. I can always call the police.
Oh, duh.
I dug out the note and hopped on the subway. I spent the afternoon at the police station. I didn’t want to call 911 because it wasn’t exactly an emergency, and the non-emergency line can take forever. I waited for almost an hour before anyone talked to me. The longer I waited, the more the initial shock of the note wore off on me. Was I being ridiculous? Is this an overreaction? It’s just a note. There’s not even anything threatening on it.
When an officer finally sat down to talk with me, I couldn’t even convince myself that anything was wrong. But I guess they’re used to that at the police station because this lady reassured me that coming in was the right thing, and now there was a paper trail if anything escalated. I pointed out that the envelope had my name on it, and they asked if there was anyone I knew who might send something like this. They didn’t take photos of the note or anything.
I went home. It was late now and I still felt jumpy. But my cats purred on my bed with me and I watched Youtube to fall asleep to. I also smoked a bowl, which is something I’d been trying to quit since the start of the pandemic. Eventually, I drifted off. Even though you’ve probably guessed it by now, remember, to me the crooked blinds were no big deal. I didn’t even connect them to the note until the next one came.
So, it’s like this.
The first note was a horrific slap in the face. The second was a slow-burning dread that graduated to nausea, confirming a truth I was desperate to deny.
THE BLINDS OPEN THEM
A bit of bile climbed up the back of my throat. The envelope slipped from my hand. It’s a nightmare, the feeling of being targeted. I suddenly felt a million eyes on me. Crazy thoughts of flying home entered my mind. I would wrap up my big city life and fly home to the safety of my childhood bedroom.
I picked up the envelope to crumple it up, but something was still inside. I peeked.
Bills. Money bills. Real, money bills.
Hundred Dollar Bills.
I counted them once, then twice.
Five hundred dollars in the palm of my hand.
My heart pounded in my chest. My thoughts came at me in rapid fire. One side of me was horrified and didn’t want anything to do with this disgusting money. She wanted to burn it all up, or take it back to the police station and force them to take serious action. That part of me was revolted at the implications of the note, of “opening the blinds”. I’m not stupid, I was able to put together the obvious conclusion. Remember, my unit is on the first floor. It’s not like it’s street-level thought- the entire apartment is elevated, and a thick row of bushes separates the sidewalk from my bedroom window a good deal. Despite this, it appeared that some creep was highly invested in watching me catch Z’s. Horrible. Disgusting.
The other side of me was poor. Yeah, cliche, but please, please try to feel the situation I’m in.
I’m a part-time worker and a full-time undergrad student in a high-inflation area. Oftentimes the money my Dad sent me “for fun” went towards whatever vegetables I was incorporating into my noodles that week, which I would never tell him. (Fun fact: I got my start in creative writing making up whatever fun fictional event I had attended with my friends for my dad to read about over text. Haha). It felt like I was working for the privilege of food and shelter. All of my socks have holes. Instant coffee is my best friend. I’m not saving; I’m treading water. Until I graduate from university and can start my real career, it feels like my life is a giant blah. These are the best years of my life and I’m struggling to survive. The only piece of sanity I have is my kitties, and I don’t even care how much I have to spend on their food and water and litter; they’ve saved my life and I’d be empty without them. The city was sucking me dry. And, living in the city, you really develop a recognition for “working girls”; girls with rich boyfriends who have an online side hustle, who wear bright clothes and heavy lashes. Seeing them inspires in me a mixture of pity and admiration. They’re taking care of themselves financially, sure, but they look worn. Not many of them look young- even the young ones.
I’ve googled it once or twice- I think most girls have at some point out of sheer curiosity- and having an OnlyFans is much more difficult and less rewarding than you think. Most girls don’t make more than $300 a month. It’s not livable.
And here, I had $500 in an envelope for doing nothing. For sleeping.
This is the part where you start booing me because I do the stupid thing.
I pulled the blinds up. They hung crookedly, letting in a triangle of sunlight. I looked down over the windowsill. A large, unruly bush obscured the ground below. I went outside and scoped out the area below my window. It was all bushes and thorns and seemed pretty undisturbed- no broken branches or footprints or anything. I thought maybe whoever was sending the notes had a powerful telescope or something. No way anyone could lurk below my window like some kind of creep. It just wasn’t feasible.
That night, I smoked three bowls and knocked myself out with two melatonin. The cats slept under the bed. I locked the latches on the window so no one would slide them open.
Two days later, another envelope.
No note. Just more money. Another $500.
The same envelope arrived every two days. Sometimes, it took three days. The first time that happened, my heart fluttered with strange hope, until the third morning came and it was there in my mailbox.
I started moving through life like a zombie. I smoke every night and started chewing melatonin. The drugged sleeps are taking a toll on my body. Sandbags are tied to my wrists and ankles and my head perpetually aches. It feels like a chore for my heart to beat. Even now, typing this out, the glow of the computer makes my eyes feel sandy.
I quit my job at the bookstore because obviously I didn’t need it anymore. I finally started going out with my school friends to restaurants and clubs. I bought cute outfits that make boys hit on me and I dance with them. I buy shots for the table. I buy bottles. I never really drank alcohol like this before but somehow it’s become a necessity. I grind up against strangers and let them kiss my neck. One time I brought a boy home with me, but then the envelope didn’t come for five days. My grades are slipping but I’m keeping my head above water. I would never forgive myself if I failed out of school. It’s the whole reason I moved here and I’d be letting my dad down. He loves me so much. I feel like a failure. I don’t even know what he’d think of me with the way I am now. Probably disappointed.
It’s been a long time since I went to sleep sober, but yesterday I accidentally ran out of weed and everything closed before I could go pick up again. I’m fucking crying and my hands are too shakey to type properly. I hate this life, I hate this existence. I couldn’t fall asleep last night and I saw it.
I was wrong about the bushes.
It was the middle of the night. I was tossing and turning in my bed like a rag doll with a migraine. My brain was active, completely awake with a caffeinated-like frenzy. My eyes slide from the alarm clock on my bedside table to the ceiling, like that was my way of counting sheep. It was a deeply-ingrained habit by now to just ignore the window.
1:23 am
Ceiling
1:25 am
Ceiling
1:28 am
Wall/ceiling
1:31 am
Shiny wide eyes
You know that horrible jerk when you fall in a half-dream? That’s how it was when I saw it.
I really hope it was a man, but as I’m typing this I have to be really honest and say I don’t know.
His eyes were really wide and I could see the whites all the way around. They were really shiny. I can’t remember if they were too big for his head or if his pupils were too small, but that’s how it feels when I try to remember. At first, I thought his eyes were weirdly low on his head, and that his mouth and nose must be really small, but then I saw that his neck was on the top of his head. So then I knew the top of his head was really his chin, and his neck was in its normal spot, and he definitely was not disrupting the bushes.
He smiled slowly. It looked like a frown. His face was upside down.
I thought I was in a nightmare, but then the cat jumped off my bed and scrambled out the door.
His eyes watched it go, then refocused back on me. A too-long finger pressed against the glass and swirled slowly.
Revulsion rushed over me and I vomited all over my bed. He didn’t move. A cold sweat took hold of me and I started trembling violently. The vomit stank. My mouth was impossibly dry. I began sobbing. Dry, heavy gasps wracked my body. I felt like a maggot. I felt like when I was five years old and was lost in Paris, back when Mom was still a part of the family and she forgot me in the Louvre. He had me in a stalemate the whole night.
A single shock has nothing on a night of unrelenting terror. The thing didn’t stop watching me until sunrise began, when it scuttled around and up the building like some kind of beetle, and disappeared.
When the golden sun was fully in the sky and beaming through the crooked blinds, I was able to move. I walked like an old, infirmed person to the bathroom and ran hot water in the tub. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw how hollow and pale I was. I looked terminally ill. My bathroom scale lay on the floor and I weighed myself out of habit. I was twelve pounds lighter than yesterday.
I just spent the entire morning crying in the bath, letting the water run, draining and replugging so that the constant rush of water thundered in my ears and drowned out the horrible image that kept creeping to the forefront of my brain. My skin is red and pruny. I don’t have any clean clothes left so I’m wrapped up in my towel, sitting on the couch, and typing this.
I’m so scared I went too far. This has been going on for almost three months. He’s given me so much money. It’s sick but I feel like I owe him this, like I can’t stop.
I don’t want this anymore but I’m so fucking scared. I don’t want to check my mailbox. I don’t want to be here.
But maybe, could I also just be making a big deal out of nothing? Like, girls do worse for less. Especially here.
It’s just sleeping. I don’t even do anything. Am I the crazy one? Maybe I’m just fucking broken or sensitive or something. How is this a big deal? Why am I crying over this? I have money to burn. I’m finally secure. I have friends. I fuck like crazy. My cats get gourmet kibble now. My clothes are nice and new. I have a Costco membership now. After a couple more years of school, I’ll move on and never look back. This chapter of my life will be closed. Forgotten. Normalcy is on the horizon. Just a couple more years. Anyone can survive anything for a couple of years.
I just really hope he was a man.
Can someone please just tell me it was just a man?
Please please, please.