Darkness, footsteps, and the man that stalked me

Imagine this: It’s midnight, and you’re alone in your bedroom with the door closed. Nobody else is home. The lights are out, the only sound is the wind blowing and the occasional tree branch scratching the window. You hear the floorboards creaking outside your bedroom, followed by footsteps, heavy and loud, walking down the hallway towards your door. You try to convince yourself it’s just the house settling, but then you hear your door handle wiggling, followed by scratching at the bottom of the door, as if someone is trying to get in. <br><br>That is what I had to endure every night for months.<br><br>This all started when I moved into a new home. I was in my early twenties, and while excited to have my own space, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I didn’t see anyone; it was a very strange, inexplicable feeling. So I did what a lot of people would do in my situation: I ignored it, or at least I tried to. <br><br>I didn’t have much money at the time, so my new home was a tiny one-bedroom bungalow. It was very basic and needed some work done to it, but I couldn’t complain. It was all I could afford. One unique feature of this tiny home was the door and window layout. With the front door on one side of the house, the bedroom door was directly across the hallway from it, with the window at the foot of my bed. I mention this because it’s pretty important to what happened. <br><br>The first night in my new home was more eventful than I had anticipated. I fell asleep right away, as the stress of moving had exhausted me. I woke up to what sounded like someone walking around the living room. Since no one was supposed to be there, I tried to convince myself that it was just the house settling, but then I heard the refrigerator door open, followed by the sound of it closing. The noise was very loud, and very clear. It sounded like someone was opening my fridge and rummaging through it. <br><br>I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do, aside from calling the police, and this is where things took a turn for the weird, as you’ll soon see. When I called 911 the operator said that I was the third person on my street to call in a trespasser that night. Three houses down from mine, someone had broken into the home of a very sweet elderly lady that I had met a few days before. The police seemed to know exactly who it was, and they were able to catch him. Come to find out, this man had broken into many homes in the neighborhood, always entering through unlocked windows. I never found out why this man was entering homes and taking nothing. His motivations are still a mystery to me, but I was just grateful that he was caught. I figured I’d never have to worry about him again, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.<br><br>The very next night, I was awoken to the sound of scratching at the bottom of my front door. I was frozen in place; no idea what to do. So I did nothing. I laid in bed, waiting and hoping that the scratching would stop. After a few minutes, the scratching finally ceased, and I heard footsteps walking away from my home, down the front path that led to the street. I was terrified, but I knew I had to do something. I called the police again and told them that someone had scratched at my door and then left. When the police arrived, they told me that they hadn’t caught the man, but they knew that he was in the neighborhood, breaking into homes again. They told me to try and get some rest and to call them if anything else happened. I was so scared, and the police essentially telling me to just go to sleep was no comfort. That feeling of being watched was back, more intense than before. I couldn’t sleep, and I was constantly on edge, waiting for the next strange occurrence. I convinced myself that it was just my paranoia, but looking back, I think I was genuinely being watched. <br><br>The man continued to stalk me over the next few weeks. Every night, I’d wake up to the sound of scratching and scraping at the bottom of my front door. I’d hear him walking away from the house and towards the street, and I knew I wasn’t imagining things when I felt like I was being watched. One night, I tried checking the front door and looking through the peephole to see if I could get a look at him. The man was in the shadows, so I couldn’t make out his features, but I could see that he was tall and had dark hair. I continued to call the police, and they continued to tell me that they hadn’t caught him. I knew he was still out there, and I had to do something to protect myself. <br><br>That’s when I came up with the plan. I set up my video camera in the hallway, facing the front door, in the hopes that I could finally get footage of the man. To my surprise, it worked. I was awoken the next night to the familiar scratching sound, and I immediately knew that the camera had probably caught him. When I looked at the footage, there he was. A man wearing a black hoodie and jeans, scratching the bottom of my front door. Even though it was dark outside, I was still able to make out his features. Dark hair, tall, scruffy beard. It was the man from the night before, the one I saw in the shadows. I was so relieved to have finally caught him, and I immediately called the police. <br><br>They came to my house and watched the footage. I asked them to look through the other footage I had recorded, and to my surprise, the man had been to my home many nights in a row. Even when I didn’t hear him scratching or walking, he was usually there, lurking outside my home in the middle of the night. The police told me they knew exactly who he was, and that they would have someone at my house the next day to take my statement. I didn’t hear from them for a few days, and when I finally did, I received some surprising news. The police had apprehended the man a few days before they came to my house to take my statement. They told me that the footage I had captured was very helpful in getting him off the streets. <br><br>The police told me that he had a long criminal history, and that he was in jail and awaiting trial. I was so relieved to have him off the streets, and I finally felt safe in my home. <br><br>I moved out of that house a few years after that, and I never forgot about the man who stalked me. Some nights, I’d lie in bed and hear the house creaking and the wind blowing. I’d try to convince myself I was just being paranoid, but sometimes I’d have to get out of bed and check the locks, just to make sure I was safe.<br><br>&#x200B;<br><br>Edit:<br><br>I think there’s a lot of confusion as to why I never locked my front door. I was young and naive, and I think I convinced myself that I wasn’t in any real danger. I knew the man wasn’t breaking in; he was just scratching at the door. I can’t explain why I didn’t lock the door; I didn’t even think about it. Looking back, I realize how stupid it was. But at the time I had no idea what to do, aside from calling the police. And the police didn’t seem too concerned, aside from telling me to be careful and aware of my surroundings. I guess they just thought he was a weirdo and wasn’t going to do anything sinister. <br><br>If anyone has any questions or needs further clarification on anything, feel free to ask!