Growing up without a lot of money, I never thought I’d own my own house. Then I started my OnlyFans last summer and the money came pouring in almost faster than I could count it. I closed on a small but comfortable place with a nice yard and a porch back in March. It was my dream house and I couldn’t have been happier. Over the course of a few months, however, my dream became a nightmare.
Starting an OnlyFans was a spur of the moment decision I made. I was unemployed, drowning in debt, living with my parents, and overall felt like I’d hit a wall in life at only twenty-three years old. I’d read an article where it said the average woman on OnlyFans made $800 a month, which would at least let me start paying off my credit cards. Apparently, while $800 is the average, some girls do much better, including my account. I made $400 the first day and by the end of the month, I was already out of debt and starting to save.
My account was all about…tasteful and artistic expression. I got into photography in college so I already had a decent setup. Once I moved into the new house, I set up my “office” in one of the bedrooms. It involved a lot of silk curtains and lace and plush pillows. I honestly spent more time with my clothes on just chatting with fans. A lot of them were lonely guys who just seemed to need a friend, a shoulder to cry on, an artificial intimacy. One struggle I had from the start was drawing boundaries. I’m an over-sharer by nature and I found myself letting way too many details about my life slip during online conversations. I figured that the guys were harmless, though, so it wouldn’t be a big deal if they knew my real name or the town I lived in.
I was putting fresh linens into the upstairs hall closet when I caught sight of several small piles of dust on the carpet. There was dust on some of the shelves in the closet, as well, a thin film of white particles like snow had blown in and refused to melt. Food that I was positive I’d left in the fridge and pantry began disappearing. Furniture would sometimes be just slightly out of place from where I remembered moving it. I began hearing strange thumping sounds at night and creaks from deep within the house. My first assumption was that my home was haunted. I’m a very spiritual person and I’ve always had a sixth sense about spirits and energy. I started burning sage regularly, walking through the house with crystals, and leaving out small offerings like mini bottles of rum and brandy.
Unfortunately, the weirdness only intensified as the weeks went by. I developed sleeping issues; some nights I would wake up with the sense that I wasn’t alone. I could feel a presence, or the echo of a presence, at least. I became increasingly paranoid as sleep deprivation took its toll. I was posting less and less to OnlyFans and I could see the physical signs of my rough nights in my photos and videos. My eyes were becoming baggy, my skin pale, and I found it harder and harder to dig up a smile or sympathy for fans who wanted to chat.
I was growing more and more convinced that I was being haunted as the nights and days blurred together. My dream home felt like a prison and I was falling behind on the mortgage since I wasn’t able to work. I spent most days drifting through the halls like a dead body on the tide. Eventually, though, my fear turned to anger. This was my house and I wasn’t going to let some malignant entity scare me away. That’s why when I woke up one night to creaking coming from directly above me, I decided to face my fear. I quickly got dressed and crept out into the hall. The sounds seemed to be coming from the attic, so I gently pulled open the door set in the hallway ceiling, lowered the folding stairs, and climbed up.
The first thing that struck me when I opened the door to the attic was dim but clear light. I was confused, then horrified, as I looked around the cramped room. There were new lightbulbs hanging from beams all around the attic. It looked like the bulbs were connected to wires that were spliced into my walls. I saw a sleeping bag on the plywood floor, a laptop, even a miniature fridge. There were thick, black cords running all over the floor connecting back to a series of small screens. I crawled into my attic and screamed when I saw what was on those screens.
It was my house. Every room must have been wired with a camera. I thought of the piles of dust I’d found and realized they were from someone drilling into the ceilings above me. I felt sick, violated, but most of all, near panic at the thought of the intruder catching me in his lair. The attic was empty for the moment but he might return any time. I thought of the creaking I’d heard only minutes before and wondered how I’d missed him leaving. The answer became clear when I noticed that the small window set near the ceiling was open. The invader must have been crawling out then climbing up onto the roof. My heart almost jumped up to my eyeballs when I heard footsteps above me. He was still up there. I smelled smoke. The monster was taking a cigarette break on my roof.
I quickly but quietly left the attic, folding the stairs and closing the door behind me. After grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I locked myself in my master bathroom and called the police. I considered fleeing the house but didn’t want the intruder to spot me from his perch on the roof. The worst moment came when I heard thumping from the attic; whoever was on the roof had come back inside. Thankfully, the cops arrived in less than five minutes. I ran downstairs to let them in, then followed behind at a safe distance as they headed towards the attic.
They caught the small man stuck halfway in the window. The cops had pulled in without lights and sirens, but the creep must have noticed the cruisers at some point and tried to make a mad dash out the window back to the roof. I’m not sure what his plan was from there but I guess he figured a two-story jump was better than getting arrested. The two burly police officers dragged the home invader into the attic and I got a good look at his face while they wrestled to cuff him.
The scariest thing was home normal the creep looked. An average face with brown, thinning hair. Dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose sat over a narrow chin. I wouldn’t have looked twice at him if we passed on the street. But the expression he had while the cops were on top of him will likely stick with me for the rest of my life. He was leering at me where my head poked up from the stairs. His mouth was open in an idiot grin, his tongue out, lips moving back and forth over his teeth.
I would find out later that he had hundreds of hours worth of footage of me from the cameras around the house. He’d been in the attic for weeks. What was most chilling, though, was what cops found on his phone. There were a dozen videos of me sleeping taken from up close. That presence I thought I’d felt some nights? It was the creep having just left my room where he’d stood over my bed, watching me, recording me…probably with his tongue out and his mouth peeled back just like when he was arrested. The police also found a copy of my house key in the man’s possessions. At some point, while following me around town, he’d managed to swipe my keys, copy them, then return them before I could notice. At first, I couldn’t believe it, but then I remembered how convenient it was to make copies at kiosks in any Walmart or Sam’s Club or hardware store.
Even though my stalker is still in prison, I’ve started changing my locks now every few months. It’s the only way I can sleep at night.