Scary STALKER Horror Stories To Make You Feel UNSETTLED
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What unsettling experiences does the narrator share about living alone?
I want to say up front that I know how this is going to sound. For most of it, I didn't believe it myself, and I was the one living it. I've gone back and forth about posting this for almost a year. The case is closed now, the trial is over, and the people who told me to stay quiet while everything was pending have finally said I can talk about it. So here it is. All of it. My name doesn't matter, but for the sake of this, I'll go by Dana. At the time this happened, I was 22 and a senior at a state university in the Midwest. I'm not going to say which one, but if you've ever been to one of those mid-sized college towns where the whole economy is the school, you know the type of place. A downtown strip with three bars and a sandwich shop.
Neighborhoods of old houses chopped up into student rentals. Cornfields starting about ten minutes past the last stoplight in every direction. I lived alone that year, which matters to the story. My junior year, I'd had a roommate, a girl named Kelsey, but she graduated a semester early and moved to Chicago in December. Our lease ran through the following August, and I couldn't find anyone to take her room mid-year, so I just ate the cost and kept the place to myself.
How does the narrator describe the first signs of a stalker?
It was the bottom unit of a two-story house on a quiet street, about a 15-minute walk from campus. Upstairs was a grad student named Marcus, who I saw maybe twice a month. He kept strange hours at the lab, and I kept strange hours at the library, and the extent of our relationship was waving at each other by the mailboxes. The apartment itself was nothing special. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen with cabinets that had been painted so many times the doors didn't close all the way, and a living room with a big front window that looked out on the street. The landlord was an older guy named Jerry who owned about a dozen properties in town and answered maintenance requests slowly and sometimes never.
The locks were original to the house as far as I could tell. The front door had a deadbolt. The back door, off the kitchen, had one of those button locks and the knob in a chain. I'm telling you all this because the details of the apartment became my entire life for about three months, and I want you to be able to picture it. One more piece of background, and at the time I had no idea it was background. I'm adopted. I've always known. My parents, my real parents, the ones who raised me, were never weird about it. They adopted me as a baby through a closed adoption, which means no identifying information about the birth family was shared in either direction.
What strange occurrences happen that raise the narrator's suspicions?
Growing up I'd ask questions sometimes and my mom would tell me what little she knew, which was almost nothing. The adoption was finalized when I was about one year old. It was through an agency two states over. That was it. I went through a phase in high school where I thought about doing one of those DNA ancestry kits, but I never pulled the trigger. Honestly, I had a good childhood and a good family, and the curiosity never outweighed the feeling that I'd be opening a door I couldn't close. Remember that. It comes back. So, spring semester, senior year. My schedule was the same four days a week. Classes from 10 to 2, then I worked at the campus library at the circulation desk from 3 to 9, Monday through Thursday.
Fridays, I had one morning seminar. Weekends I usually drove the two hours home to see my parents, or stayed in and did absolutely nothing, depending on my workload. I'm a creature of habit. I always have been.
How does the narrator's relationship with their neighbor evolve?
I eat the same breakfast. I take the same routes. I park in the same spots. My mom used to joke that you could set the town clock by me. The first thing I noticed was the glass. This was the last week of January. I'd had a long shift, walked home in the dark, and when I went into the kitchen to make dinner, there was a drinking glass in the dish rack. Clean, upside down, sitting in the rack. The thing is, I don't use the dish rack. Kelsey did. After she moved out, I'd gotten into the habit of washing my one plate and one glass and drying them immediately with a towel and putting them back in the cabinet because an empty counter made the apartment feel less lonely.
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Chapters
8 chapters
1
What unsettling experiences does the narrator share about living alone?
0:22–1:37
2
How does the narrator describe the first signs of a stalker?
1:37–3:03
3
What strange occurrences happen that raise the narrator's suspicions?
3:03–4:05
4
How does the narrator's relationship with their neighbor evolve?
4:05–5:10
5
What critical warning does the neighbor give about potential danger?
5:10–6:13
6
How does the narrator's fear manifest in their daily life?
6:13–7:18
7
What shocking discovery does the narrator make about their neighbor?
7:18–8:10
8
How does the story conclude with the stalker and the narrator's safety?
8:10–1:35:00
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