I always thought my neighbor was a bit strange. He was an old man who lived alone in the house next to mine. He never had any visitors and he rarely left his home.
One day, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to sneak into his backyard to see what he was hiding. What I found shocked me to my core.
In his backyard, there were dozens of glass jars filled with strange objects - teeth, hair, bones and other things that I couldn’t even identify. It was like something out of a horror movie.
I quickly ran back to my house and locked all the doors and windows. But that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
The next day, I went over to confront my neighbor about what I had seen. But when I knocked on his door, there was no answer.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The house was dark and musty with a strange smell in the air. As I made my way through the rooms, I saw more glass jars filled with strange objects.
And then I saw him - my neighbor - sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He was staring at me with empty eyes.
I tried to run but something held me back. And then he spoke in a voice that sent shivers down my spine.
“I am The Collector,” he said. “And you are now part of my collection.”
I don’t remember much after that but when I woke up, I was back in my own bed. At first, I thought it had all been a nightmare but then I noticed something strange - one of my teeth was missing.
From that day on, strange things started happening to me. Objects would move on their own and doors would open and close without anyone touching them.
And sometimes at night when everything is quiet, I can hear faint whispers coming from next door.
I tried to tell people about what had happened but no one believed me. They all thought I was crazy or making it up for attention.
But deep down inside, I knew the truth. I knew that my neighbor was The Collector and that he had somehow taken a part of me.
I became obsessed with finding out more about him and his strange collection. I started doing research and discovered that there had been other people who had gone missing in our neighborhood over the years.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they were all part of his collection too.
One day, I decided to confront him again. I went over to his house and knocked on the door. This time, he answered.
He looked at me with a smile on his face and invited me inside. I followed him into the living room where he sat down in his chair and gestured for me to sit across from him.
“I see you’ve come back,” he said. “Are you ready to join my collection?”
I tried to run but it was like my feet were glued to the floor. And then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was back in my own bed again. But this time, something was different. There was a glass jar sitting on my bedside table with a note attached to it.
The note read: “Welcome to the collection.”
And inside the jar was one of my teeth.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How was it possible that my neighbor had somehow managed to take one of my teeth without me even realizing it? I felt violated and scared, but I knew that I couldn’t just sit back and let this happen to me. I had to find a way to stop him before he took anything else.
I spent the next few weeks obsessively researching The Collector and his strange collection. I talked to people in the neighborhood, scoured old newspapers and police reports, and even reached out to experts in the field of criminology and psychology.
Slowly but surely, I began to piece together a picture of my neighbor’s twisted obsession. It seemed that he had been collecting items from his victims for years, and that he had somehow managed to avoid detection all this time.
Armed with this knowledge, I knew that I had to act fast if I wanted to stop him. I decided to set a trap for The Collector, something that would catch him off guard and prevent him from harming anyone else.
I waited until I knew that he would be home alone, and then I snuck into his backyard. I carefully removed one of the glass jars from its spot on the shelf and replaced it with a jar of my own.
Inside the jar, I had placed a small GPS tracking device that would allow me to monitor The Collector’s movements in real-time. I also attached a note to the jar that read: “You’ve been caught.”
I waited anxiously for The Collector to return home, and when he did, I watched as he made his way to the backyard to check on his collection. I saw the look of confusion and anger on his face when he realized that something was amiss.
He searched frantically for the jar that I had replaced, but I knew that he wouldn’t find it. I had hidden it well, and I was confident that he wouldn’t be able to track me down.
In the weeks that followed, I watched as The Collector’s movements became more erratic and desperate. He knew that he had been caught, and he was clearly struggling to come up with a way to escape the consequences of his actions.
Finally, one day, I received a call from the police. They had found The Collector’s body in his backyard, surrounded by his strange collection. It seemed that he had taken his own life rather than face the prospect of being caught and punished for his crimes.
I felt a sense of relief that The Collector was no longer a threat to anyone else in the neighborhood. But I also knew that I would never forget the fear and anxiety that he had caused me.
As for the jar that he had left in my room, I knew that I couldn’t just throw it away. It was a reminder of the darkness that can lurk within even the most seemingly innocent people. So I decided to keep it as a reminder of the danger that I had faced, and the strength that I had found within myself to overcome it.