The one thing I still wish I could unsee

Throwaway because I'm a new redditor on a burner account.<br><br>I don't even know where to begin with this. I've never told this story to anyone, not even my parents. It's been six years, and I still have trouble sleeping at night.<br><br>When I was 16, in the summer of 2012, my dad got a new job in a town about an hour away from where we lived in northwestern New Jersey. He moved there in late April to get everything settled down before I, my brother, and my mom joined him in early June, for the start of summer vacation. <br><br>My brother and I were both leaving behind friends we'd known since we were kids, and we were pretty upset about it. The upside was that we'd each get our own rooms and our own bathrooms for the first time ever. We were both pretty excited about that.<br><br>We moved in on the first weekend in June. The house was new, and it was way bigger than our old one. We spent most of June getting settled, and I remember we went on vacation in July to a beach house at the shore that my dad bought as a "welcome to our new home" surprise. It was my brother's birthday, and my dad thought it would be good to get us away from the stress of the move.<br><br>When we came back home, it was ungodly hot. I mean, we'd just left the beach, which was a huge change, and it was like walking into a goddamn oven every time we left the house. My brother and I had each other, and we'd go to the pool a lot, but it was one of those summers where it stayed hot and muggy forever.<br><br>I guess that's why I ended up staying in my room a lot. It had AC, and it felt nice and cool. Plus, I had everything I needed in there: a king-sized bed, a desk, a TV, and the biggest walk-in closet I'd ever seen. We'd moved all my stuff from the old house, and we'd bought a ton of new furniture, so I really didn't have to leave if I didn't want to.<br><br>My only problem was the window. This house was built in a residential neighborhood with a lot of houses that all looked basically the same. The houses all had sliding glass windows in the bedrooms, with screens that you could open to let in a breeze if you wanted. I made the mistake of opening mine.<br><br>The first two nights were fine. I had earplugs, and I understood that there was going to be some noise. They were building more houses behind us, and I could hear the occasional frog or cricket. But then, on the third night, I woke up to the sound of someone talking outside my window.<br><br>At first it was just mumbling. It didn't sound angry or anything, but I could tell someone was right outside. I'm a girl, so I screamed, and my dad came running into my room. When he turned on the lights and lifted up the shade, all we saw was a pair of shoes on the roof, walking away from us.<br><br>I'm not gonna lie, I freaked out. I didn't sleep for almost two weeks, and my dad stayed in my room every night. But then one night, we both fell asleep, and I woke up to someone whistling.<br><br>I froze. The whistling was so loud that it sounded like it was coming from inside the room. I felt so terrified that I couldn't even call for my dad. I just lay there paralyzed until I realized it had stopped.<br><br>The next night, I woke up to footsteps outside my window. They were light, but I could hear someone pacing back and forth, pausing every once in a while at the edge nearest my bed. This happened for almost a month, and every night I would call the police, but by the time they came no one was there.<br><br>I went to a therapist for a while, but it didn't do much to help me. The fact that they couldn't catch whoever was doing this just made it worse.<br><br>Then one night in mid-August, I was half asleep when I heard the whistling again. This time I didn't scream; I just pulled the covers over my head and trembled. The next thing I knew, my dad was shaking me and telling me to get up and come downstairs.<br><br>At first I didn't know what was going on. I was groggy, but I remember we went outside and the police were there. They had someone in the back of a cruiser, and it was the neighbor from across the street. I don't know how they caught him, but they said he had a history of voyeurism.<br><br>I moved back to my old house with my brother for the rest of the school year. I couldn't stay in that house any longer. The whole experience was so, so traumatizing, and I still have anxiety over it. I'm in therapy again, and I can talk about it now, but it still gives me nightmares.<br><br>The weirdest part is that the guy's name was Mr. Solomon. I will never forget that. Sometimes I wish I could, but it just sticks in my head.<br><br>So Mr. Solomon, if you're reading this, let's never meet again.