[0:12]I've gone back and forth about whether to share this, but I think I need to put it somewhere. This happened when I was a sophomore at school in the northeast. I won't say which one, and I'm in Kappa. I'm an English major, and I've always taken my academics pretty seriously because I'm trying to get into law school after I graduate. That's relevant context for what I'm about to tell you. Last semester, I enrolled in this upper level course on English Romanticism. The class was pretty small, maybe 25 students in total, and it was mostly juniors and seniors. There was a professor who led the seminars, of course, but most of the actual teaching was done by the T.A during discussion sections. His name was Roamer, and yes, that was his real name. I still don't know if it was a first or last name situation, but that's what everyone called him. He was maybe late 20s, kind of lanky and gave off this, I'm in a band, but not a good one type of energy. He was kind of just an oddball anyway. The class itself was fine. A lot of close reading, a lot of discussion about nature and memory and all that romantic nonsense. But participation was pretty dead most days. People would just sit there and wait for Roamer to fill the silence, which he hated. You could tell it made him uncomfortable, which was problematic because then he'd start cold calling on people and chirping at them when they clearly didn't know what was going on. There was one guy though, who always seemed to keep things alive. His name was Luke. He was tall, with brown hair, and the only other thing I knew about him was that he was in one of the better frats on campus. He had this way of making jokes at just the right moment, not to be annoying, but to break the tension when things got awkward, and he actually did the reading, which was rare. When he talked, it was clear he knew his stuff, so the humor felt earned. He wasn't trying to be the class clown. He just had a presence. I remember thinking he was smart, but kind of goofy. Anyway, since I needed to participate for my GPA, I ended up being one of the only other people who talked regularly. So it was usually me, Luke, and maybe 2 or 3 others carrying the discussion while everyone else zoned out. Roamer seemed to appreciate it. He'd not along when I made a point, and sometimes he'd build on what I said in a way that felt validating. For my first essay, and I remember this vividly, I wrote about ambiguity in Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey. It wasn't groundbreaking, but I was proud of it. When I got it back, Roamer had written these long, detailed comments in the margins, not just corrections. Actual agreement with my ideas. But after that, I noticed things started to shift a bit. Roamer began paying more attention to me in class. He'd call on me more often, ask follow-up questions to my answers, make eye contact with me for long periods of time. Stuff like that. At first, I told myself I was imagining it. T.A's take a liking to certain students all the time. It's not that unusual. But then he started asking me things that felt less academic. I brushed it off, though. I had other things going on. Around the same time, I started running into Luke more and more outside of class. Our sorority and his fraternity had a lot of overlap. I think Greek life is mostly stupid, but we were both in I guess what you consider top houses at our school. So we had a lot of joint mixers, date nights, and just always went to the same parties, and Luke was just always there. So naturally, we just ended up talking more and more, and I started taking a liking to him. After a few weeks of this, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner sometime, and I said sure. We went on maybe three dates before things progressed. He was sweet, attentive, you know, all the things you'd want. We started sleeping together, and everything felt normal. I wasn't head over heels or anything, but I liked him. It was uncomplicated, low maintenance, and mostly painless. One afternoon after class, I was walking to my car when I saw Luke standing behind the lecture hall, smoking a cigarette with Roamer. They were talking like they knew each other, which struck me as weird. I didn't even know Luke smoked. When I asked him about it later, and said he was just trying to get on Roamer's good side so he wouldn't have to try as hard toward the end of the semester. I told him that was kind of pathetic, and he laughed and said he'd take pathetic over a bad grade any day. A few weeks later, when I came back, I noticed his phone was lying next to him on the bed with a YouTube video playing. I know I shouldn't have looked, but curiosity got the better of me. Can you blame me? I'm a college girl in a sorority. The types of guys I'm surrounded by would cause any rational person to develop trust issues. So I went through his phone. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find, but I was definitely not expecting to find a collection of photos of me. And there were a lot of them. Some were more benign photos of me going about my day or studying or walking to class. But there were others. I'll let you fill in the blanks yourself, but they were, let's just say, suggestive. Some of them were ones I'd sent him, but there were quite a few that I had no recollection of ever taking. I wasn't mad or anything. Mostly creeped out, like if he had asked me for most of them, I probably wouldn't have been opposed at all. I didn't wake him up that night. I just went back to sleep, not really knowing how to feel. I ended up keeping things to myself, partly because I was embarrassed, but partly because I didn't want him to know I'd snooped through his phone. A week later, after he'd fallen asleep again, I decided to try guessing his password, which actually wasn't too hard. It was just his birthday, but reversed. This time I went deeper. Brace yourself because things move really fast from this point forward. I checked his messages, his deleted photos, everything, and I found something horrifying. He'd been sending photos of me. Those photos of me to an unsaved number regularly for weeks. Basically, the entire duration of time we'd been seeing each other. It was sick, and it was probably illegal too, but I couldn't think about that. I was shaking. I took pictures of everything, and then I started to cry, I couldn't control myself. I basically slapped him awake and demanded to know who the number belonged to. And he stumbled through this ridiculous story about how it was just his backup phone, how he liked to have copies of everything, in case his main phone got lost. I knew instantly that was bullshit. I stormed out before he could convince me to stay. I was a complete wreck. I was a psychological mess and I felt gross. I really didn't want to get into the immediate aftermath of everything, so I won't. Just know that it was probably the worst week of my life. The last thing I need is for that trauma to reopen if anyone figures out who I am or anything. So that's another reason I'm keeping the details to a minimum. The unknown number ended up belonging to Roamer my T.A. The police got involved and Luke confessed pretty quickly once they started pressing him. He admitted that Roamer had been paying him hundreds of dollars, apparently in exchange for photos. The whole thing had been going on since the beginning of the semester, maybe longer. I don't know all the details, and honestly, I don't want to. Luke got expelled from university and Roamer got fired. I'm pretty sure there was jail time involved as well. Although I do remember thinking whatever punishment they got wasn't nearly enough to make me feel compensated. That was over a year and a half ago. I'm a senior now and I'm almost done with school. I'm kind of relieved about that, to be honest. I've dealt with things in my own way, and I won't get into that, but I thought everything was behind me. A few weeks ago, though, I started noticing something. There's this silver sedan that's been parked outside my sorority late at night. Not every night, but enough that I've started paying attention. I haven't seen anyone get in or out of it. I don't know if it's one of them. I'm probably being paranoid, but it's really freaking me out. And honestly, I'm not sure how they'd even know I live here now. I moved into the house well after the Luke situation anyway. If anything else happens, I'll update.
[8:47]This happened like two weeks ago. I'm still not fully over it, but I need to get it out there because keeping it to myself is driving me insane. My name is Mike, but everyone calls me Mikey. I'm 22, and I'm still living with my parents in Northern California, and before you ask, no, it's not the California you're picturing. I always have to explain this to people. Not every part of the state is beaches and palm trees. Where I live, it snows pretty heavily. We're talking middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest. Closest neighbor is a ten minute drive kind of situation. I've been skiing my whole life, so the cold doesn't bother me. If anything, I prefer it. But that's not really the point. The point is that two weekends ago, my parents flew out of the country for a wedding. Some friend of my mom's was getting married in Portugal, and I wasn't invited, but I didn't really care about that. A weekend alone in the house sounded kind of nice. Our house isn't anything special, just your standard three bedroom, one story, nothing fancy. My parents' room is at one end of the hall. Mine is at the other. Then there's a guest room in between that that we mostly use for storage. The living room and kitchen are in the middle of the house, and the front door opens right into the living room. I'm describing this because it'll be important later. The first night alone was fine. I went to bed around 2 a.m. and passed out pretty quickly. The second night is when everything went wrong. I went to bed around the same time, maybe a little earlier. I remember being more tired than usual, so I knocked out fast. I don't know what time it was, but it was the middle of the night. That's pretty irregular for me. I knew something woke me up because I always have to keep my phone on airplane mode when I sleep, so it wasn't that. But I had no idea what it could have been. I scanned the room, but it was pitch black. As my eyes started adjusting to the darkness, though, I saw something strange. My closet door was wide open. I always keep that door closed. Always. It's one of those sliding doors that doesn't stay shut on its own, so I make a point of closing it every night before bed. I know that sounds weird, but I've had the thing about open closet doors since I was a little kid. The point is, I didn't leave it open. I know I didn't. I started freaking out a little. My brain was doing that thing where it's trying to convince you that you're still dreaming, but I knew I wasn't. I was fully awake. I could feel my heart starting to pound, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was really, really wrong. Without thinking, I reached over to my nightstand, grabbed my phone, and turned the flashlight on. I literally screamed when I saw them. There were two figures standing at the edge of my bed, just standing there. Before I could make out any features, they scattered in opposite directions like they were trying to avoid the light beam. It was freaky how fast they moved, almost like they knew I had been about to turn the light on. I started flailing my phone around, trying to keep it on them, but they were too quick. I heard something clatter to the floor, but I didn't have time to process it. I just started screaming. I don't even know what I was screaming. I think I was just making noise out of pure panic. The two figures bolted for my bedroom door. I heard their footsteps pounding down the hallway, and I started chasing them before I could have a second thought. By the time I got out of bed and made it to the hall, though, I heard the front door slam. I ran to the living room, but they were already gone. I stood there in the living room for I don't even know how long. My hands were shaking, and I was just trying to focus on catching my breath. The moment I regained my composure, I ran back to my room, locked the door, and called 911. While I was waiting for the police in the safety of my locked room, I finally turned the light back on. That's when I looked down at the floor by the edge of my bed and saw what had clattered during the commotion. It was one of my mom's kitchen knives. I almost threw up. I'm not kidding. Those people had been standing over me with a knife while I was sleeping. If I hadn't woken up when I did, I don't even want to think about what would have happened. I probably wouldn't have woken up. The police showed up maybe 20 minutes later. They searched the entire property, but there was no sign of anyone, of course. They took my statement, asked me a bunch of questions, and then one of the officers told me I must have forgotten to lock the front door. I told them I remembered locking it, but he just kind of shrugged and said that was the only explanation, being as there were no signs of forced entry, and every other door and window throughout the entire house was locked. The only thing that even could have been unlocked was the front door. I accepted that and watched them leave, but I knew I locked the front door. Fast forward through the nonsense of my parents getting home the next day and scolding me all over again for forgetting to lock the front door. There's no need to get into that. It's been two weeks now, and I still don't have an explanation. Forget whether the door had been locked or not, why the hell were two people in my room with a knife? Just rob the place? It's not like I would have noticed them come and go. At first, I thought whoever broke into my house that night might have known my parents were out of the country. But now I'm starting to doubt that theory, because I have trouble believing standard thieves would go out of their way to kill someone.
[14:14]My name is Natasha. This started happening about three months ago, right after I broke up with my ex, Tibbet. I'm 23, and I just moved into my first solo apartment after living with roommates since college. It was nothing special. A one bedroom in a mid-sized complex in Columbus, Ohio. I work remote, so I'm home a lot. That's part of why I wanted my own place. I was tired of trying to take calls while my roommates were being loud in the kitchen or whatever. The apartment was on the second floor, facing the back of the complex, which meant my view was basically the parking lot and then some trees. Not exactly scenic, but I didn't care. I had my own space, my own schedule, and for the first time in my adult life, actual privacy. For the first few weeks, everything was fine. I didn't really interact with anyone in the building besides the occasional head nod. There was an older woman on the first floor who always seemed to be checking her mail whenever I walked by, and a couple across the hall who I'd hear arguing, sometimes through the walls. That was about the extent of my social landscape. Anyway, I started noticing this guy. The first time was maybe three weeks after I moved in. I was coming back from the gym around 8 p.m., and as I was walking up the stairs to my floor, I passed someone coming down. He was this nondescript white guy, maybe late 30s or early 40s. He had an average build. He was also wearing a gray hoodie. There wasn't really anything remarkable about him. We did that awkward thing where you both try to move to the same side, then he just kind of squeezed past me without saying anything. I didn't think much of it. The second time was a few days later. I was in the parking lot getting something out of my car, and I saw him standing near the dumpsters. He wasn't really doing anything, just sort of standing there. When I looked over, he turned and walked away, around the side of the building again. Not that weird on its own. I shrugged it off and went about my business as usual. The third time is when things started feeling off. I was working at my desk, which faces the window overlooking the parking lot. It was the middle of the afternoon, and I happened to glance outside while I was on a call. There was a navy blue car parked in the lot that I didn't recognize, and someone was sitting in the driver's seat. I couldn't see their face clearly, but I could tell they were looking up at the building at my floor, maybe at my window specifically, but I couldn't be sure. I watched for a few seconds, then went back to my call. When I looked again, maybe ten minutes later, the car was gone. For whatever reason, that stuck with me. I started paying more attention after that, and the more attention I paid, the more I noticed him. The guy spent a lot of time in the parking lot. Not every day, but often enough that it started to feel like a pattern. Sometimes he'd be walking through, sometimes sitting in that same blue car, which I realized was his a few days later. Once I saw him standing by the stairs to my building, just looking at his phone. He never looked directly at me, or if he did, I never caught him. But I started to get this feeling like he was always positioned in a way where he could see my apartment. I told myself I was being paranoid. The complex isn't that big. If someone lived there and had similar hours to me, I'd probably see them a lot. That's just math, and I'd never actually caught him doing anything wrong either. He wasn't following me, and he wasn't approaching me. He was just around. But then something happened that I couldn't explain away. I have a pretty set routine. I go to the same gym at the same time most days, and I usually stop at this Chipotle on the way back twice a week. It's like a 15 minute drive from my apartment in a completely different part of town. One night I'm sitting in the Chipotle, eating by myself and scrolling through my phone. I look up and there he is, that same guy, with that same gray hoodie from the first time I saw him. He was just sitting at a table across the restaurant eating a burrito bowl. I started to feel sick in my stomach. I'm not exaggerating. I felt physically sick for a second because there was no reason he should be there. The gym I go to is in a different direction. This Chipotle isn't even near anything else. It's not like it's on a main road where you just happen to end up. You go there on purpose. I tried to rationalize it. I mean, Chipotle is pretty popular, and he was eating, but he was also looking at me. Not obviously. He looked down at his food, then glanced up, then looked down again. But I could feel it. And when I got up to leave, I swear he started gathering his stuff too. I walked to my car fast. I didn't run, but I was moving. I got in, lock the doors, and just sat there for a second. When I looked back at the restaurant, I couldn't see him through the windows. I don't know if he came outside or not, but I didn't want to stick around. The drive home, I kept checking the mirrors. I didn't see anyone following me, but I took a weird route just to be safe. It was probably overkill, especially because he already knew where my apartment was, but I wasn't thinking straight. When I got back to my apartment, I sat in the dark for like an hour just watching the parking lot through my window. I never saw either him or that sedan. So eventually I convinced myself I'd overreacted and went to bed. The next morning, though, I woke up and looked outside like I'd been doing every morning since this started. The sedan was there, and I could see someone sitting in it, so I didn't think twice and just called the police. I felt stupid doing it. What was I going to say? Something along the lines of, there's a guy who I keep seeing and it's making me uncomfortable. As silly as it sounded, I called anyway, and I tried to explain the situation. The officer I talked to was polite, but clearly thought I was being paranoid. He said they could send someone to check the parking lot, but unless the person was doing something illegal, there wasn't much they could do. He suggested I document things, write down dates and times, take pictures if I could, and call back if anything escalated. By the time a patrol car actually showed up, maybe 45 minutes later, the sedan was gone. The officer walked around the complex, knocked on a few doors, and basically told me what I expected. No sign of anyone suspicious, no complaints from other residents. He gave me a card and told me to call if anything else happened. Nothing happened for about a week after that. I started to relax a little. I figured maybe the police visits had spooked that creep, or maybe I really had been imagining things and my brain just needed to reset. But then I got the note. It was slipped under my door sometime during the night, and I found it in the morning when I woke up. It was a handwritten note that read, you should really close your blinds at night. I was terrified. I remember dropping the note out of fear before scrambling to pick it back up. My hands were shaking, and I felt the really nasty feeling of danger and helplessness. I ended up moving out two weeks later. I didn't even wait for my lease to end. I just paid the penalty and left. I thought that was the end of it. I moved back in with my parents, planning to stay there until I found another apartment. But if that was really the end of it, I probably wouldn't be writing this. About a month after moving back home, I was driving back from the gym. A different gym, obviously, when near my parents place. And that's when I saw it. A navy blue sedan parked on a random side street, maybe two blocks from my parents' neighborhood. I immediately recognized the car, and I knew it was the same car. I knew it for a fact. I sped the rest of the way home, trying not to freak out. I didn't see anyone following me, but that almost made it worse, because if it was him, and I'm almost positive it was, then he probably already knew where I was going. I told my parents as soon as I got inside. My dad said he'd keep an eye out, and my mom started double checking all the locks. They'd been watching the street more carefully since then, and my dad even mentioned getting a camera for the front porch. It's been about two weeks, and I haven't seen that car since. Part of me wants to believe it was a coincidence, and it was just a similar car, and I'm losing my mind. But I know what I saw. I don't even know how he found me, but I really don't want to think about the possibility that I have a dedicated stalker who's been tracking everything I do. I'm quite honestly scared to do anything that involves leaving the house. I'm debating getting the police involved again, but there's not much I'd be able to even tell them. Hopefully this story needs no updates.
