I’ve lived here for about two months. I moved out of my parents’ house immediately after graduating high school and went searching for a place I could live in until I could find employment. I worked full-time in the summer when I was a kid and part-time during school, so I’d saved up a sizable sum of money by the time I graduated.
It’s not a large place, as you can imagine considering the fact it was bought with savings from my high school days, but all the same, I can’t say that I’ve had any problems with it. The water works fine, the heater works fine, and it came with furniture, so I didn’t have to waste away another couple thousand dollars. I’ve had no reason to be upset with or scared of the property until today. I woke up at about 11:00 AM, which is a luxury I can afford since I don’t have a job, and soon after, I noticed a folded sheet of paper on the shelf next to my bed.
It was clearly recent, as it wasn’t yellowing or ripped in any places, and it hadn’t begun to collect any dust. I live alone, so there’s no one I know who could have left it on my shelf, and I don’t remember putting it there myself, so understandably, I was quite freaked out. I mean, who would have left a note right next to my bed, and why? Did they want me to know something? Were they trying to scare me? If I read the note and it wasn’t written in malice, would that even matter considering the fact someone snuck onto my property so they could write it?
All of these thoughts coursed through my mind for about a minute before I eventually came to what I felt was a much more sensible conclusion: I wrote the note myself. I was trying to remind myself of something or I was writing a letter to a family member or friend and I left it next to my bed simply to remind myself of its existence. I don’t have the greatest memory and if I were in the middle of writing the letter and I needed to finish it tomorrow for whatever reason, there would be a good chance that I would forget about it all together. Leaving it right next to my bed was just so I could know to finish it, or if it was already finished, so I could know to mail it.
This was a plausible explanation until I got out of bed and read the note. What I found was vague, but disturbing:
I don’t know if I can get away with it this time. I’ve done this for so long and for so many years that I’m bound to slip up at some point. I know some people in my situation that have managed to get away with this for decades, but let’s face it, I’m not as smart as them. Five years of missing people all thanks to me. What if one of them is found? What if the police start to get leads? Ninety-nine percent of them are total idiots, but they have to learn something at some point. They have to discover some sort of pattern. I’m writing this to you because I need your help. We’ve known each other for many years but you’ve never paid any attention to me. We’ve always been close, yet distant, and I can’t, for the life of me, understand why. We have plenty of things in common, and if two people were working at this at once, then that’d make it much easier. I hope you get this. I really do. For too long have I lived so near to you for you to ignore me. It’s time you’ve finally realized I exist.
I mean, what the hell? Was this a sick prank from a friend? From my mother or my father? Why would they write this? This person says they’ve known me all my life and yet we aren’t close? How is that even possible? I shouldn’t be freaking out so much about something that’s probably just a harmless prank, but I am. I don’t know what to do. If this really is some sort of kidnapper or serial killer who’s been at large for five years, then I need to get the fuck out of this house. But then, what if they follow me?
I’m trying my hardest to calm down but it isn’t easy. What I do know is that I should turn this in to the police. The person who wrote the note says that they’re all incompetent idiots, but they’re still my best source of help as of current. Beyond that, I need to start locking my front door. I know, I know, I should have been doing that from the very start, but honestly, I’ve always lived in a safe neighborhood. Not quite as safe as a Canadian neighborhood, but still, it’s an unsuspecting place to live. I’ve never had any reason to think some sort of murderer would walk through my door and kill me in my sleep, and if a murderer were so inclined, then that wouldn’t stop them from breaking down the door or window.
All the same, I’m gonna start locking my front door and I’m gonna turn this note in to the police today; see if maybe this was written by a known kidnapper/murderer. They typed it so the police can’t do a handwriting analysis but I know they’ve got to be able to track it back to someone, anyone. And while they’re doing that, I’m just gonna sit here and try to go on with my life. It sounds stupid, but if this person was offering for me to help them out, then I doubt that they’d come after me. If the next note, and I hope there isn’t a next note, is more aggressive, then I won’t think twice. I’ll get the hell out of here, but if there isn’t one, or there is and it’s just as polite, then frankly, I’d like to see where this goes.