I always thought living alone would be liberating. No more roommates to complain about my messy habits or blasting music at odd hours. I’d have complete control over my space and my time. It would be bliss. Or so I thought.
It started with small things that I brushed off as coincidence or paranoia. The curtains would be pulled back, just slightly, when I was sure I had closed them earlier. A cup would be in a different place than where I remembered leaving it. Nothing major, but just enough to make me question myself.
But then I started hearing noises late at night. Scratching at the windows. The sound of footsteps muffled by the carpet. Once, I even woke up to find a door in my apartment slightly open, which was strange because I never left my doors unlocked.
At first, I tried to convince myself that my imagination was just playing tricks on me, but the feeling of being watched never left. It was like a persistent itch in the back of my brain that I just couldn’t shake. I started to feel uneasy in my own home, always checking my windows and doors multiple times and staying up later and later just to make sure I was safe.
Then, I began receiving anonymous calls when I was home alone. The voice on the other end was always breathy and mysterious, offering vague compliments and warnings that didn’t make sense. I tried to hang up as soon as I heard the voice, but it was always too late - they already knew too much about me.
Soon enough, things escalated. I would have the distinct feeling that someone was standing right behind me, but when I turned around, no one was there. Or, things would disappear and then reappear somewhere else. I lived my life always looking over my shoulder, feeling like I was constantly being toyed with. I decided maybe I was being paranoid, and that I could stick it out. But that’s when things took a much darker turn.
The anonymous calls turned into a “visitor” at my doorstep—sometimes at odd hours. I never saw the person, just footsteps and intense breathing. I never knew who was stalking me, what their motives were, or when they would strike next.
Once that realization hit me, I knew I had to take action. I couldn’t live in a constant state of fear and uncertainty anymore. So, I installed a security system in my apartment and made sure all my doors and windows were locked and secure. Finally, the anonymous calls and the “visitor” stopped, and I started to feel like maybe things could go back to normal.
That was until I received a package in the mail containing a note from my stalker mentioning things that only they could know about me. I felt sick to my stomach, wondering how on earth this person could have possibly known those things. The note included an invitation to a public meeting spot with a demand to come alone and unarmed if I ever wanted to feel safe again.
I knew I had to go. Even if it meant jeopardizing my life. I drove to the location and waited nervously, wondering who it could possibly be. My palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding. Just as I was about to turn and walk away, a hooded figure approached me, and for a moment, I almost lost my mind - but that’s when I heard the voice.
It was the person I had loved for years, who I thought had died just weeks before in a car accident. They had been staying anonymous for a reason, seeing if I could manage without them in my life.
I felt both relieved and angry at the same time, but mostly relieved. The relief washed over me as I realized that I wasn’t alone in the world, that someone out there cared about my safety and was willing to implore a ruse to protect me.
That feeling never left me, knowing that someone I cared about was always there for me, even when they may have made a mistake. As unorthodox as their methods were, they got the job done in the end.