One day you'll find me dead in the trunk of my car, and the police will tell you my body had been in there for days.

Throwaway because my husband knows my main.<br><br>Sir, you better not be lurking. But I doubt you'd recognize yourself in this post because you're not the person I thought you were. You're not who anyone thought you were. Least of all me.<br><br>Six or so years ago, my husband and I bought a house. He was a Marine, and we were stationed in North Carolina. Our house was new, a little big for two people, but it had a nice backyard that we could view from our bedroom window.<br><br>It was a great little house. But it had one major flaw: It was situated right near the road, and anyone could easily view our living room from the street outside. It didn't take us long to realize that we had a Peeping Tom. <br><br>At first, when we moved in, it was just a weirdo wearing a black hoodie, walking down our street several times a day. My husband would see him out of the corner of his eye and yell at me to cover up. <br><br>A few weeks later, I was in the bath tub when my husband rushed in and told me to get out of view; our weirdo neighbor was *standing in our front yard, looking in at me through the blinds.*<br><br>We called the police, who did nothing but take a report and tell us to do nothing and wait for him to strike.<br><br>We got sick of waiting for this dude to attack us, so we started arming ourselves in the house. That's when I learned I was a naturally good shot, and my husband was not. But I digress. <br><br>We started leaving out props: a Nerf gun that looked like a real gun, a toy knife, a book on a table near the window with the words *"I know you're watching me"* scribbled on a page, turned to face outward.<br><br>We thought we were messing with this person's mind. We thought we had the upper hand. <br><br>One night, my husband and I were watching tv on the couch, when I noticed *two* hooded figures standing in our front yard, looking in at us. They were too far to see their features, but we assumed the first weirdo had found a friend to join his ranks. <br><br>That night, my husband and I barricaded ourselves in the living room. We turned off the lights, got under a big blanket, and waited until morning. We didn't sleep. And we never saw the people again. <br><br>After that, my husband received orders to move out to Hawaii. By that time, we were more relieved to be leaving our house than we were excited to be moving to Hawaii. We didn't tell anyone we were leaving, not even family, because we were afraid the weirdo would turn into something worse than a Peeping Tom. We didn't want him to know where we were going. <br><br>Naive. We knew nothing about stalkers. <br><br>We arrived in Hawaii and spent the first few months in a hotel while we waited for housing. One day, as we were walking out of the hotel, we passed a man in a black hoodie. <br><br>My husband nudged me and whispered "It's him!" <br><br>We got in our car and left, but the feeling of dread lingered. Weeks later, when we were moved into our new house, I started noticing things were slightly off. The tv would be turned to a different channel, or the shower would be running. I wrote it off as new house jitters until my husband told me he was also noticing the same things. We had an open floor plan, so there was no hallways to hide in or rooms to conceal oneself. <br><br>One day, my husband had the day off and we were reading in bed. I heard a strange noise that sounded like a drawer opening, and ran into the living room. <br><br>A man in a black hoodie was *standing in our living room, holding a kitchen knife.*<br><br>I don't know how I didn't scream. The only thing I remember saying was, "Oh my god," over and over, as I backed away from him. He didn't run. He didn't seem surprised to see me. <br><br>I walked calmly to the bedroom and shut the door. I locked the door, then walked over to my husband, who was reading a book, oblivious to anything. I whispered "There's a man in the living room. Get the gun." <br><br>I called the police, and gave them my location. My husband sat on the floor, aiming the gun at the door, waiting for our intruder to enter. The police didn't show up in time. Our intruder left before they arrived. They never found him, but a few nights later, someone lifted my car door (it was unlocked) and stole my lighter and spare change. They left a kitchen knife on the floor of my car. <br><br>This is where the story ends because we moved after that. But here's the thing: This man *knew us.* He knew we were moving to Hawaii. He knew where we lived. <br><br>I never felt safe. I never feel safe. One day, he'll find me again. And that's the last you'll hear of me.