When I was sixteen years old, I got my first cell phone. It was a normal flip phone, one that blinked red when I had a new text message. The first time I got one of the messages, I didn’t think much of it.
Him: I love you.
Me: I think you have the wrong number, sorry. LOL
Him: No, I love you.
Me: Really? Well… who are you?
Him: Your true love.
I showed the message to my friend Kirsten. She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. I didn’t reply to the mysterious man’s text message and promptly forgot all about it. I figured the poor guy had probably been trying to date some girl and she gave him a wrong number to get rid of him.
When I was seventeen years old, I got a new blackberry phone, which still had the red blinking light for new messages. I also got my first boyfriend. His name was Todd.
One day, in the middle of class, I noticed the red light blinking inside my purse. Making sure the teacher wasn’t looking, I pulled out my blackberry, held it under my desk and read the message:
Him: Where have you been?
Me: Who is this?
Him: I missed you, baby. You miss me too?
Me: Sorry, wrong number.
Him: Don’t play with me, Sweet Thing!
Me: Seriously, you have the wrong number. I have a boyfriend. Bye.
There was no response. Two days later, I received another message:
Him: Jenna?
He knew my name. I don’t know how, but he knew my name. I showed the message to my boyfriend. Todd took the phone out of my hand and replied with an angry messsage.
Me: Listen, dude. This is my girlfriend’s phone. She doesn’t know you and she doesn’t want to know you. You have the wrong number. If you don’t lay off, we’ll go to the cops. Stop texting her.
At the time, it seemed to do the trick. The mystery man never replied and I thought that was the end of it.
When I was eighteen years old, I got a new iPhone that went “bing” whenever I received a new message. I also broke up with my boyfriend. The very next day after Todd and I split up, the messages started again.
Him: I’ve missed you.
I stared at my phone in disbelief. It couldn’t be the same person, could it? Maybe it was just Todd, trying to freak me out.
Me: Who is this?
Him: You know who this is. I’m glad you got rid of him.
Me: Who?
Him: That scumbag you called a boyfriend. Seeing you with him always made me mad.
Me: Listen, you creep! Stop texting me! I don’t know who you are or if this is some kind of joke, but stop it!
Him: No! You listen, Bitch! You’re mine. If I see you with another guy, you’ll regret it. BTW do you leave your curtains open at night so I can watch you?
I was sitting on my bed as I read the text message. Horrified, I immediately turned to look out my window. It was on the ground floor. Anyone standing in the backyard could see straight into my bedroom. I jumped up and pulled the curtains shut. Then, I called my friend Kirsten and told her what had happened. She came right over and convinced me to go to the police.
When we arrived at the police station, the officers were very helpful. I showed them my phone and they managed to track the man’s number. They ended up finding a battered old blackberry phone in an abandoned building about two blocks from my house. There was gooey stuff all over it, as well as on the floor. The phone was registered to a man who had gone missing a few months before. He had still not been found.
I changed my phone number and, for a month or so, everything was fine.
One night, I went to a party at a friend’s house. A lot of the guests were playing drinking games and quite a few had passed out on the couch or were throwing up in the bathroom. At end of the night, I realized that my purse was missing. I went around the house, searching for it everywhere, but I couldn’t find it.
I saw Kirsten coming out of the bathroom and I begged her to help me find my purse. We eventually went outside and found my purse lying on the front lawn. All of the contents were scattered around on the grass. We started gathering everything up. Luckily, all of my money and credit cards were still there. The only thing that was missing was my lip balm, which I honestly couldn’t care less about. I figured one of the drunk girls had probably been rummaged through my purse to borrow some lip balm and had accidentally spilled everything out.
Kirsten and I decided to call a taxi, but when I took out my phone, I realized that someone had been using it to send a bunch of text messages. The last text was just a bunch of gibberish. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I scrolled through the messages.
I was right. Some drunk girl had been playing around with my phone. She had answered messages posing as me. A whole conversation had taken place:
Him: Hey Sweetie. Haven’t talked in a while.
Her: Ur right. Sup sexy?
Him: How are you?
Her: Gd, you?
Him: I’m just sitting here thinking about you. I missed you. Did you miss me?
Her: LOL. Ur funny. Whr R U?
Him: You know I can’t tell you that. You already went to the cops once.
Her: Cops?
Him: You think I didn’t know? It took me a while to forgive you for that. Almost as long as it took me to find your new number. Did you miss me?
Her: LOL. Sure!
Him: I see you’re not at home tonight. What are you doing?
Her: U can see me?
Him: No, Jenna. I can see where you are on GPS. That’s not your house.
Her: At frnds. Drinkin.
Him: Are you drunk? Wait there. I will come and pick you up.
Nine minutes later, the girl finally replied.
Her: OK Sorry I j/k. This not Jenna I found her phon.
Him: You stole Jenna’s phone?!
Her: No. Borrowd it.
Him: I’m coming there right now. What have you done with Jenna?
Her: Nothin! Dont com here! Your creepy.
Him: I’ll kill you if you hurt her
Him: Answer me. You better not have hurt her!
Him: Bitch, you’re dead!
Her: Is tht u in th red car?
Her: Dude, ur creepy. I’m goin inside.
Her: WTF? Was tht u?
Her: K stop. I’ll leave the phegooi2362 0gm4t-my 23-y3440y=;
There were three more text messages like this, with letters and symbols, as if someone had mashed the keyboard with their fingers. As I finished reading, the phone vibrated in my hand:
Him: Jenna. Hope you found your phone and purse okay. I have the bitch that tried to steal them. Don’t worry, she won’t bother you again. Your lip balm tastes so good. I can’t wait to taste it off your lips.
I burst into tears and immediately called 9-1-1, trying to explain the gravity of the situation. A patrol car arrived about ten minutes later and the police officers found me sitting on the front lawn, sobbing. Kirsten was trying to comfort me and a bunch of party-goers gathered around me, trying to figure out what was happening.
There was a man and woman officer. The man was older and bald but the woman looked only a few years older than me and looked worried. I tried to tell them what happened but ended up just handing them the phone while choking out things like “texting me since I was sixteen” and “already went to cops” and “help her”. As soon as the police figured out what was happening, they ran back to the patrol car and called it in.
Hours later, using GPS, they managed to locate the other phone. It was in a lake. They pulled the lifeless body of the drunk girl out of the icy water. The phone had been stuffed half-way down her throat. When the police identified her, it turned out I had only met her once and we only had one friend in common.
Even though I didn’t know her, I went to her funeral and listened to all the kind things her friends and family said about her. So many people loved her. I felt terrible about what had happened. The guilt was unbearable and even though everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, I still blamed myself.
The stalker had made me feel completely vulnerable. I was afraid that he would keep on finding me. It seemed like the nightmare would never end. I changed my number again, then I moved house. A good friend of mine, a guy called Matt, had a two-bedroom apartment and was looking for a roommate. I thought that would be the safest option. For a while, it appeared that my life would go back to normal. However, a few weeks ago, the messages started again.
In the early hours of the morning, my phone buzzed. I reached for it and read the text with tired, haunted eyes.
Him: Found you!
I stared at the screen, unable to move for a few minutes.
Him: Aren’t you going to say Hello?
Bitter tears started rolling down my cheeks.
Him: You know I hate to see you cry.
I froze. For a few moments, I didn’t breathe. I didn’t even blink. Slowly, I turned my head and stared in horror at my bedroom window.439Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhAT1Ix4FFx
Outside, on the fire escape, stood a man. He was dressed in black from head to toe and silhouetted against the street light behind him. All I could see clearly was the palm of his hand, pressed against the window. His hot breath was fogging up the glass.
I didn’t wait to see what would happen. Jumping out of my bed, I ran down the hallway and burst into Matt’s room, screaming at him to call the police. He was jolted out of his slumber.
“Jenna, what is it?” he asked.
“The man I told you about!” I shouted in terror. “The Stalker! He’s here! Outside my window! Call the police!”
He was too stunned to move. I grabbed his phone and called the police myself. As I explained what had happened, my roommate’s eyes grew wide. He reached into his closet, grabbed a baseball bat, and set off down the hallway. I tried to call him back, but he didn’t listen.
His footsteps came to a stop and I heard angry voices and the sounds of a struggle. Then, there was a sickening THOCK! It sounded like wood colliding with something hard. A muffled voice shouted my name. I wasn’t sure who it was. I heard someone moaning in pain, followed by a loud thud. Then the entire apartment was eerily silent.
“Matt?” I yelled. There was no answer. I crept out of his room and as quietly as I could, I made my way towards the kitchen. Grabbing a butcher knife from the kitchen drawer, I pressed myself up against the wall and tried not to make a sound.
In the doorway, I saw a large shadow appear. It was the silhouette of a man. He looked much larger than Matt.
“What do you want?” I screamed. “I already called the police! They’re on their way!”
The man just chuckled. A quiet, menacing chuckle. Then he started walking towards me and I could hear him muttering my name under his breath over and over again.
“Jenna, Jenna, Jenna, Jenna, Jenna…”
I didn’t move. There was nowhere left for me to run. He came right up to me and his face was just inches away from mine. He was older than I thought he would be, his dark beard streaked with grey. His eyes were hollow, with large black circles underneath. His teeth looked like they were rotting in his mouth.
I was holding the knife behind my back. As his big fat hand reached for my neck, I let out a primal scream and lashed out as hard as I could. He stumbled backwards, a shocked look on his face. The knife was sticking out of his chest.
I pushed past him and ran out into the hallway. He tried to follow me, but when i looked over my shoulder, I saw him drop to his knees. Then, he fell face-down on the carpet. I wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead and I didn’t want to take the chance.
I ran into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. Matt lay slumped against the wall, a large purple bump already forming on his forehead. He was unconscious. I hurried over to him and cradled his head in my arms as I waited for the police to arrive. I touched Matt’s face lightly and cried into his chest. Then, I heard the sirens in the distance and soon, the flashing lights were outside.
The police yelled out when they entered my apartment and I heard them talking outside my room. They broke through my bedroom door and I looked up gratefully.
“What happened in the hallway?” The police officer asked.
“He came in through my window and attacked my friend. Then he was coming for me, so I… I stabbed him.”
The police officer looked puzzled. “There’s nothing in that hallway but a whole lot of blood.”
I looked from him to the hallway and began screaming. I took my phone and threw it at the wall as hard as I could, shattering it. They took Matt to the hospital and brought me to the police station for questioning. Halfway through my interview, the officer was called out of the room. When he came back, he told me that the body of a man had been found a few blocks from my house. He had died of stab wounds.
They identified the man and learned that he had a criminal record for stalking, kidnapping and attempted murder. They broke into his house and found one room completely dedicated to me. I saw the pictures the police photographer took. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with images of me. In some of them, I looked no older than thirteen. There was a lot of sticky stuff encrusted on the walls and the pictures. There were pillows and an old blanket on the floor. I thought I recognized the blanket. It was one I had lost when I was a child.
They also found the remains of a girl’s body in his freezer; a girl who had disappeared almost twenty years earlier. She had been his first obsession. He was forty-eight years old when I killed him. He had no family or loved ones. He had lived like a hermit for most of his life.
Matt got out of the hospital a week ago. He had a fractured skull and three broken ribs. We moved into a new apartment, one with an alarm system and reinforced windows. We’re also officially boyfriend and girlfriend. I don’t have a phone, and I don’t know if I will ever get one.
Whenever I hear the sound of Matt’s phone ringing, it sends a shiver down my spine.
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