Have you ever had the feeling you were being watched? That you weren’t safe in your own home? Being followed around stores is nothing new to me or my mom and sister but there’s a huge difference between a sketchy guy following you down isles and to your car and someone standing outside your house in the dark, smoking cigarettes and watching until there’s a pile of buds at their feet. Shining lights in your windows, opening and closing your car doors, putting burning cigarettes on your porch feet away from where your mother is sleeping.
Almost every night there’s someone outside my house, looking in the windows we haven’t fully covered with blankets or thick curtains, tampering with our washer, watching from the shadows of the shed (we’ve seen him twice hiding there), pacing under my bedroom window. He started a while back, standing and watching from afar but now, now he wants us to know he’s there.
Purposefully leaving us signs he’s been watching us when we were asleep, when we’re awake showing us he’s right outside. He’s there, always there. He’s practically mocking us. Turning our outside washer on at night as if to say “I’m here” shining lights into our windows as if to say “I’ve seen your gun and I’m not afraid.” Nothing stops him.
The police only keep him at bay for a few hours, my dad coming over keeps him from being as loud at the end of the house he’s asleep at but he’s still there, under my window concentrating solely on the area I’m at, like he knows I’m alone.
Things are escalating, my sister won’t sleep here anymore. My mom’s terrified. Rightfully so, earlier when I learned about the proof of him being on my porch my legs gave out as two distinct memories came to mind, near identical but still different. I rarely sleep in the living room but there were two nights, one being last week when I did. I slept on the sofa under the window we don’t cover since you have to be on the porch to see into it.
I dreamt I felt someone watching me, so I woke up just barley and turned to look up at the window. There, right above me was a man, his white grin looking down at me, watching. I dreamt this twice, both times I slept in the living room, but they were different. One time he was closer, bent down to get a closer look at me, lit cigarette in his right hand. The other time he was standing tall, the same horrifying grin painted artificially on his shadowy face, eyes boring through me.
I’d been trying to sleep in there because I couldn’t sleep, I felt like someone was outside my window so I wanted to be closer to my parents who were in my mom’s room at the opposite end of the house. I eventually fell asleep because of total exhaustion. When I get that tired, even if I wake up and have a very clear memory of something happening, nothing will keep me awake longer than a few seconds to a minute at most.
That being said, both times I saw this man, this dream, I was this exhausted. I saw him long enough to know he was there and staring but being so tired means that not even this kept my eyes open, despite the fear I felt my eyes still force themselves shut. I woke up in the morning having only the memory of the man, no other dreams and it felt as though hadn’t just happened as a dream might. It felt like a memory, but that seemed to crazy to be real. Now with this man leaving us proof he was coming on our porch, feet away from where I thought I saw him watching me sleep… I just don’t know anymore.
There’s no doubt he’s been coming at night prowling around in the dark, it’s almost two A.M. as I write this, he might be outside right now. He’s always here it seems, some nights are quieter, we think he’s gone but then we see the next day what he’s done, what his tampered with or left. Other nights he’s not sneaky about it at all, telling us he’s there.
He’s real, but I don’t know if my “dream” was or not, and that’s chilling. What’s really bad is that I’ve only ever partially believed it was a dream, a huge part of me said it was real and when I feel that strongly about something, I’m usually right. The bottom line is he’s out there and he’s not afraid of a gun which means one thing; he’s dangerous.
This man watching us in the darkness, lurking in the shadows and announcing his presence isn’t afraid of our gun. He isn’t afraid of my dad, a rather large man. And most terrifyingly he isn’t afraid to get close, to come on our porch and watch, to leave his burning cigarettes. He’s here, he’s dangerous, and he’s only getting closer. If anything happens to my family or myself it was him, we’ll have a cigarette bud with his DNA preserved for the police but, well catching him after we’re dead or hospitalized won’t do us much good will it? As scary as it is, I know it’s only a matter of time until we meet him… God help us when we do.