Welcome to Spooky Boo’s Creepypasta and True Scary Stories podcast. I am your host Spooky Boo. Tonight I bring to you 3 very creepy stalker stories from the Free Horror Stories subreddit. To find out more about these stories and the authors, visit my website at www.creepypastascarystories.com and click on the Source link for the story.
Now let’s begin…
Story Number One
If You Love Me
by Nerd Core Creep
I love my wife above all else. I have loved her since the moment I first laid eyes on her. I would do anything for her and that has never changed after all these years.
We first met in college. We were both Theater majors and it was day one of Acting 1 class that our eyes met for the first time. She had chocolate brown eyes that were complemented by her dark brown curls. We stared at each other constantly that first day, and when we were partnered together, we knew that it was fate.
“My name is Margaret,” she said to as soon as I walked up to her after class.
I took her by and hand and kissed it.
“Henry,” I responded.
She then took one of my long dreadlocks and wrapped it around her finger, staring me in the eyes and biting her lip. It was an amazing meeting with an even better ending later that night.
The following night, we went on our first date, a theater production of Sueño. We held each other’s hand through the entire performance, and afterward, I walked her to her dormitory. Every day after that was like a love story. We went through good times and bad times. We broke up and got back together. Through it all one thing never changed for me, I loved her and would do anything for her.
We got married after graduation and went on to become very successful in the stage acting scene. We were considered a power couple and were always cast in romantic roles opposite each other. It was easy to bring the true deep love that we felt for each other to the stage, and it was nice to make money from it.
One day, our lives took a turn. We had just finished a successful performance of the stage play The Clean House when we were approached by a member of the audience.
“That was an amazing performance,” he said, a creepy English accent behind his words.
“Why thank you, you’re sweet,” said Margaret, gripping my hand.
I could tell this guy had creeped her out, but being a talented actress, she was able to put on a nice front.
“I’ve been watching you two for a very long time,” he continued, his pale blue eyes staring into Margaret. “I am very much a fan of your work. Every performance is riveting, and I can tell that you put true passion into your exchanges. You two must truly love each other.”
“We do,” I said, stepping slightly in front of Margaret. “We love each other very much. I would do anything for her.” I looked at her, and she gave me that beautiful smile of hers.
“That warms my heart to hear,” he said as he put his arms behind his back, and looking up into the night sky. “True love is… a valuable gift that is often taken for granted. If you’re not careful, you can easily lose it forever, and it can never be replaced, no matter how hard you try.” He then looked at me, and I could see just how disturbing his pale blue eyes were. “Hold on to that gift. Cherish it forever.”
He began to walk away before I asked the question that had been bothering me since we met.
“Who are you?” I yelled.
He stopped and turned his head. “Your biggest fan,” he answered.
He then walked away. Margaret and I looked at each other, baffled at what had just taken place. Later that night, we were sitting on our couch watching a movie when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“Wonder who that could be,” said Margaret as she got up to see who it was.
She looked at the peephole and froze in place before taking a single step back and opening the door. Standing just outside the door was the same man we had talked to earlier that night. He stood there with his arms behind him, his pale blue eyes shining like the moon.
“Honey?” I said, standing up from the couch to join Margaret at the door.
“Please… come in,” Margaret said to the man, to my shock.
“What are you doing?” I yelled running to get to the door.
The man stepped inside before I got there, and began to stroke her face. When I finally got to them I threw my fist and connected with his face, knocking him back outside. I quickly slammed the door and locked it. I turned to Margaret, who was in some sort of a trance. I tried to snap her out of it.
“Margaret!” I yelled, shaking her. “Margaret! Wake up!”
There was nothing I could do to get her to respond. I shook her, slapped her, even splashed water in her face. Nothing. Nothing would work.
Suddenly, the lights in the house went out. I looked around until I said the silhouette of a man standing outside our living room window. I blinked and it was gone. I began to panic and ran to the gun safe in our bedroom. Despite being theater nerds, we were very well trained in self-defense and firearms. We could each hold our own if our lives were in danger, and if there was ever a time to put that training to use, it was now.
When I got back to the living room I immediately raised my weapon. There stood the strange man, holding Margaret by the face.
“Let go of her, motherfucker!” I yelled, aiming for his head.
He looked at me, and the only thing I could see in the darkness was glowing red eyes. He then turned his head to Margaret and I fired, hitting him directly in the head. He fell to the floor hard and I ran over. Margaret fell over too but I caught her before she hit the ground.
She still would not respond, her eyes wide open in a trance. I looked over to the man… but he was gone. I gently laid her on the floor and stood up quickly, readying my weapon once again. Suddenly, I felt a strong, tight grip on the back on my neck and I was then thrown across the room, hitting the wall.
I groaned in pain as I grabbed my gun and slowly stood to my feet, shaking as I raised my weapon again. Again, he had a hold of Margaret, but this time he pulled her head close to his. I felt my heart race and my blood boil as he put her lips to his, his glowing red eyes staring right at me.
“NO!” I screamed as I ran towards them. He then pushed her to the side and opened his arms to me, as if inviting me to fire on him again. I obliged and fired five rounds into him, but all he did was allow them to connect as he laughed. I ran up to him but he grabbed me by the throat before I could do anything. He pulled me close to his face and I could see every horrifying feature.
Not only did he have demon-like eyes, but his face was covered in disgusting, pulsating veins. In his mouth, were two sharp fangs and a long slimy tongue, which rubbed against my face, as if tasting me before taking his first bite. I lifted my gun to the arm that had a hold of me and fired twice. He growled in pain as he released me and I connected the butt of my gun to his face, repeatedly.
He fell to the floor and I mounted him, smashing his face more and more, harder and faster. I could feel the blood gush and spray all over as the bones in his skull crack and collapse. By the time I was done, there was nothing but smashed bone, brains, and blood. I panted as I stood back up and limped over to Margaret, who was now fully unconscious. I shook her and she finally opened her eyes, looking into mine with fear and confusion.
“Margaret,” I said, feeling relieved that she was alright. I held her close and we laid there until I looked over to where the body of the stranger should have been. He was gone and panic arose once again and we both stood up quickly. I turned to face Margaret and screamed when I saw him standing behind her, still in the process of regenerating his face.
Before I had a chance to react he sunk his fangs deep into Margaret’s neck. She screamed in pain as I screamed in rage, hitting the monster in the skull once again with my gun. I felt bone crack again as he released her. Again, I mounted him and went to work, growing exhausted the longer it went. I knew this wouldn’t last, as he would surely regenerate again.
It soon became obvious what exactly I was dealing with. He had put Margaret into a trance, merely by looking at her, even looking through a peephole. It wasn’t until he invited him inside that he actually got in. He had glowing red eyes and fangs, and he bit Margaret in the neck.
*”He’s a god damn vampire, “*I thought to myself.
While he was down, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed an old wooden brook. I broke it in half and ran back to the body, where I rammed it as hard as I could directly into his heart. The body began to convulse and flail its arms and legs all over. Suddenly, it stopped and went completely limp, before melting away into deep red blood and other disgusting fluids.
After catching my breath, I slowly turned my attention to Margaret. She sat there in the darkness, legs folded and upper torso full erect.
“Honey?” I said, nervously approaching her.
In the darkness, I could only see her silhouette, until her eyes began to slowly glow red. There was only one thing I could think of to do. I love my wife. I would do anything for her. Even if that meant chaining her up in the basement, feeding her a pint of my own blood every day while I figure out what to do about her.
When the hunger would hit her, she became like a wild animal that cannot be communicated with. So, I fed her my blood and she became herself again. She understood the situation and never held it against me. It wasn’t easy, but it was all we could do. Unfortunately, a pint only went so far, until soon it wasn’t enough. So I gave more and more until the point that I was endangering myself with so much blood loss.
It was then that I decided to feed her… full meals. It started with small animals at first… and then cats and dogs. Soon I made the hard decision to invite homeless people into our home, knock them out, and give them to her. This went on for far too long before it really started to affect us. She felt like a monster and I did as well.
I love my wife and I would do anything for her, which brings me to now. I’m sitting here, writing this, shaking. There is literal blood on my hands as I try to compose myself. She asked me to do one last thing for her. I refused at first… because I loved her too much.
“If you love me,” she began, looking me deep in my eyes, her now pale blues not blinking, “you will do this.”
Tears fell from both of our eyes as I pulled her in close.
“I love you, Margaret,” I whispered.
“I love you, Henry,” she responded.
I could hear the squish as I drove the wooden stake in her heart. I trembled as I listened to her whimpers, gasps, and eventual silence. I broke down as her body melted away into liquid. I laid there in her remains, sobbing.
I sit here now, with nothing left but the warning about the creatures of fiction that are very much a reality. I write my confession of the crimes I have committed out of love. I say goodbye to any friends or loved ones that may be reading this. I loved her, and I did everything… for her.
Story Number 2
Why I Stopped Narrating Stories on YouTube
by CreepyGeeksta
I started narrating stories on YouTube because after sending EVERY story I wrote, to all the big names and a few lesser known names. I got no response, No thanks for sending, No your story sucks, nothing.
I won’t mention who they are, but most of you should know who I’m talking about.
Although, one big name did read a short story I wrote, which I’m very thankful for. It wasn’t my best.
This went on for a while, after months of frustration, I finally realized it wasn’t going to happen. So, I decided to narrate my own stories, Create a YouTube channel, pick a name, and post them myself, how hard could it be, so I did.
My stories were good, at least, I thought so.
To my surprise, a few people actually liked them, and after a while, asked if I would narrate their stories,
Wow!!!….Really???….Ok!!!!
They would send them to me via email, which I gave them, and I would narrate their stories.
And that started the ball rolling.
I was talking to a coworker, one day, about narrating stories for fun and they suggested I check out an app called, “Reddit” and search, “shortscarystories”, and “NoSleep”.
They said they posted a few stories on there and thought it would be perfect for me, so I did.
I created an account, and started my search. There, I found all kinds of amazing stories. I contacted some authors through comments and personal messages, asking permission to read their stories. Most were cool with it, although I did get a few rejections. I just kept on asking.
ALWAYS ASK PERMISSION!!
Things were going great, I was narrating amazing stories, people were liking them, and I even earned enough “karma” on Reddit to start my own “community” I decided to use it for people to send stories to and people actually did.
All the while, I still searched other communities for stories to read.
That was, until I found THAT story. I should have known by their username that it wasn’t a good idea. I’m not gonna mention the name of it, because it still sends chills up my spine just thinking about it.
I’m shaking as I write this.
It was about 1 am, insomnia set in, and I was sitting at my dining room table searching Reddit. When I found THAT story and it just blew me away. It had it all, drama, suspense, emotion, everything. I contacted the author through personal message asking permission, except for some reason, I signed it using my real name, not my “stage” name.
BIG MISTAKE!!!
I realized what I did, but it was too late, I already sent it.
Anyway, mere seconds went by, and I received a reply.
“Yes, I’ve been waiting for this!!”
Thinking they’ve been waiting for someone to read one of their stories, just like I was, I replied, “Thank you”, and planned to go on with my night.
Until, I received my own personal message from the author.
“Hi, my name’s Susan. Wanna talk?”
I figured, what the hell, I’m not doing anything else, what could it hurt? So, I sent back, “Sure.”
After about a 30 minute conversation, I found out —
-
The author was female
-
We both like Stephen King
-
We both love horror stories
-
We both live in the U.S. (only a few states away from each other)
I started getting tired, I let her know, we ended the conversation, both saying goodnight.
I was lying in bed, almost asleep, when I got a message from her, saying, “I’m glad to have someone like you to talk to. I miss that”
I shrugged it off, and went to sleep
A couple days went by, I came home from work and found a note on my door, it said, “Hi, sorry I missed you. Love, Susan.”
What the fuck!!! Love??? I only talked to her for like a half hour. How’d she got my address. What the fuck did I get myself into.
I took the note off the door and quickly went inside, locking the door, and calling the police. I told them this story. They said there was nothing they could do until an actual crime was committed.
Yeah, that’s reassuring.
I hung up from them and tried to do my normal routine. Make coffee, get changed, drink coffee, and so on.
I couldn’t get the note out of my head.
The doorbell rang, i froze and slowly walked to the window to see who it was.
It was a woman, she about 5 1/2 feet tall, tattered, dirty clothes, long stringy brown hair. It looked like she hadn’t bathed in a month. I knew it was Susan.
I had to end this, now, before it turned ugly, and ugly, it turned.
I opened the door and said, “Look Susan. I don’t know what you think is going on. But I just wanted to read your story, that’s it. I’m sorry if you thought there was something more, but there’s not. Please go home.” I shut the door and walked back into the house.
She screamed like a wild woman
She started pounding on the door and screaming, “I LOVE YOU!!!”, “I LOVE YOU!!!”
I ran to the phone to call 911.
A rock or brick or something came crashing through the front window. I turned and saw that crazy bitch climbing into my house, screaming, “READ MY STORY!!!”, “READ MY STORY!!!” The shards of glass from the broken window cutting her as she climbed in. Blood on the window and the floor.
“911 — What’s your emergency?”
“Crazy bitch is in…”
She charged, slamming into me, knocking me over the desk and falling to the floor herself. She was kicking and screaming like a lunatic.
I got up, phone still in hand, and smashed it hard against her temple, as she was getting up. I don’t hit women, but that bitch deserved it. Her eyes rolled back in her head, the screaming stopped, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.
I heard sirens outside, I guess the 911 operator heard it all. The cops came, took my statement. They made me stay outside while the paramedics tended to “Susan”. If that’s even her real name.
The cops put her in cuffs and the paramedics took her to the ambulance. On her way out, she looked at me and laughingly said, “I’ll be waiting”
They put her inside, then left. The cops finished up and did the same. I was left with a fucked up door, a broken window, blood all over the place, a broken desk and a broken phone.
All over a fucking story
I’m done
I moved out that night. I left all my stuff behind. Slept in the car til payday then rented a room off a coworker
And I never narrated another story ever again
So, if any of my subscribers are reading this, and wondered what ever happened to me, now you know —
Why I stopped narrating stories on YouTube.
Story Number 3
I Would Not Belong to Him by devildollx
This happened two years ago, on the day of my 28th birthday.
I was working at a small, double-sided (drive-thru only) coffee stand about 30 minutes outside of Seattle. I’d been working there for about a year at this point, and was always scheduled to work the closing shift during the week and the opening shift on the weekends. In the 7 years I had worked as a barista at this point, I had never been confronted with a situation that challenged my feeling of security while working alone. And despite having heard numerous stories over the years of other barista in the area who had suffered violent or dangerous interactions with some of their customers, I considered myself fortunate not to have to place myself among them.
Unfortunately, on this day, that would change.
Thursday, November 7th – 6:45pm. I was preparing to close the stand at 7:00pm like usual. It was very rare that I would have customers come through the stand past 6:30, and because of this, I felt myself jump slightly when I looked up from the espresso machine I was cleaning to see a man standing behind the glass of the closed window beside me. Adding to my alarm was the fact he made no noise whatsoever as he approached the stand, and made no attempt to grab my attention once he got there. Instead, he stood behind the window in complete silence, his mouth awkwardly fixed into an unnatural looking smile. At first I wasn’t even sure he was a customer at all, considering the idea he may be a part of the large group of transients and homeless that were known at that time to reside in the area and who occasionally came up to the stand to ask for free coffee or water. For safety reasons, I typically refrain from serving walk-up customers after dusk, but because he now knew I had seen him, the rules of good customer service required I at least acknowledge the fact he was there. So, reluctantly.. I decided to serve him.
He introduced himself as Ivan. He was around my age, seemed reasonably well-kept in the sense his clothing and overall appearance looked pretty clean, and despite a slight Eastern-European accent, his English was very good. His eyes, however, were utterly unnerving. His gaze made my stomach feel uneasy. Immediately my intuition was alerting me that something about this individual was very wrong. EVERY red flag possible was beginning to show in my mind, and I could not shake the deep, almost overwhelming sense darkness that I felt coming from this person. There was an evil in him that I couldn’t ignore, though I would soon find out exactly why I was feeling this way.
After greeting him as politely as I could manage despite my growing hesitations, I began preparing my machine to make him a drink. However, he didn’t seem to know what he wanted to order, and I asked him twice what I could get started for him before I silently recognized the fact he was very likely not here to place an order. Eventually, he abandoned ordering all together, and instead directed our interaction toward small talk. He asked me where I was from, how long I’d been working at this stand, etc. I answered each of these questions with short, abrupt answers, hoping my tone and clear lack of engagement would convey the fact I wasn’t interested in continuing any further conversation, since he was not a paying customer and because I was about to close.
After a long pause, he asks slowly- “So.. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Annoyed, I replied curtly – “No.”
At this point, I was completely ready to end our interaction, so I told him that I needed to finish closing up so that I could go home. Upon hearing this, he walked away from the window he’d been standing at, mentioning in his descent that he is looking forward to seeing me again very soon. A minute or so passes and he was out of sight. Yet my gut told me that he was not, however, far away. I could feel his dark energy nearby, and I knew he was watching me from somewhere beyond my line of vision. Cautiously, I closed up the stand, locked the doors and windows, walked to my car, and drove home. By the following day, I had all but forgotten the encounter I’d had with that guy, and went to work as usual.
7pm rolls around and once again. I am just about to end my shift and close the stand. I’m nearly finished closing out the register when a brief moment of movement catches my eye from outside the window on the opposite side of the stand. I turn my head toward the area in question and there, in full view of both me and the security cameras, stood the guy from yesterday. My stomach sank quicker than I knew previously to be possible, and I was immediately very aware of how cold it was inside of that stand. He smiled at me with a predatory-like grin, waved, and then proceeded to pull open the closed window in front of him, instead of waiting for me to cross the small distance within the stand that stood between us and open it for him, as I usually would. And although he didn’t present himself aggressively, there was something incredibly threatening about his choosing to do that. It left me feeling helplessly, hopelessly unsafe in that moment, and that was not a feeling I was familiar with or, as I learned, particularly fond of. Once I was finally able to bring myself back into a present state of mind again, I cleared my throat and told him as firmly as possible that I was off the clock, and wouldn’t be able to make anything for him as my machine was already cleaned and my register closed out for the day.
His smile widened further as he replied- “It’s okay. I didn’t come did the coffee… I came for you.”
Upon hearing this, I noticed a shift in the energy building between us. The fear I’d previously been overcome with now made a sudden and jolting transition into a red-lining level of irritation.“I don’t care what you came for,” I told him as sternly as I could manage.
“It’s going to have to wait until tomorrow, because I. Am. Fucking. Closed.”
At this, he chuckled a bit before finally raising both his hands in an indication of surrender, saying- “Alright, alright.. fair enough.”
His smile disappeared.His eyes became even more focused on me, his gaze intensified.
“Then I will see you tomorrow,” he said, in a way that felt less like a statement and more like a threat.
I swallowed hard, and once he was out of view, I rushed to the window and slammed it shut, throwing the lock into place. Again, despite not being able to visibly confirm his presence nearby, I knew that he was there, and I could feel his eyes fixated upon me. I left the stand quickly and got into my car to drive home. This time, however, he remained heavily on my mind for the rest of the night, robbing me entirely of any sleep at all.
The following morning was a Saturday, so per my usual schedule, I got up insanely early to work the 5am opening shift. I arrived at the stand at 10 minutes to 5, and for the first few hours of my shift everything was as it would normally be. 8:30 rolls around and it’s now, finally, no longer freezing and dark outside, as the November mornings here tend to be. The sun had broken through the clouds and was steadily burning them off. As I was admiring the weather out the window of the stand, I noticed a familiar truck approaching. As it neared closer I recognized it as my ex-boyfriend, Jonathan. I found this exceptionally odd, as he and I were not currently on very friendly terms, due to his cheating that ended our relationship about 6 months earlier. He pulled up slowly to the ledge of the open window I was occupying and I asked him skeptically what he was doing here.
“I’m sure I’m probably not someone you were wanting to see today, I know, but I just wanted to come by and wish you a happy birthday and see how you’re doing.”
Just as I was about to thank him for the birthday wishes and inform him that no, indeed he ISN’T someone I’d wanted to see that day (I was still pretty hurt from his cheating), I noticed someone about 100 yards away, approaching the stand on foot.
It was Ivan.
I whispered quickly to Jonathan that I needed him to stay here with me, even if another customer pulls in for service behind him, until the guy who just walked up is gone. I could tell he was able to register the fear in my eyes, and he agreed immediately to stay. I brought as much focus into my demeanor as I could manage at that time and turned to face the window on the opposite side of the stand, just as Ivan approached it. I walked slowly over to him and noticed right away that he’d been crying – his eyes were bloodshot and few tears dripped slowly down his cheeks. Disregarding his obvious emotional state, I informed him he needed to leave, as I was not going to serve him. Before my statement reached its conclusion however, he cut my words off abruptly – “I don’t need this anymore. You can have it.”
As he said this, he threw what I later came to recognize as his Russian passport into the stand through the open window.I picked it up, puzzled, and with a mix of both caution and disinterest I asked him why he would no longer be needing it.
“I just won’t.”
I allowed his words to hang heavily between us while I attempted to make sense in my mind of what a gesture like this might mean, if anything at all, before I felt a strong bite of dread inside my chest. The fear crept slowly into my throat before finally escaping past my lips in an audible gasp, bringing Ivan the confirmation he’d been hoping for that I understood what was about to happen here. No guest to a foreign country would willingly discard or abandon their passport unless they intended to see to completion an act of absolute finality.
In an effort to sever the non-verbal conversation taking place within the locked gaze Ivan and I currently had on one another, I glanced over my shoulder at Jonathan, who now had a ‘what the fuck is going on?’ look on his face. In an instant he recognized the desperate, pleading fear in my eyes. This caused his own expression to quickly change to one of panicked urgency as he attempted to understand what had just taken place between this stranger and myself.
As I turned back to Ivan and noticed immediately that his crying had stopped. His tears were now replaced with a look of what I can only describe as complete and utter insanity. This is the point where the dynamics of our interaction shifted indefinitely.
“God came to me last night in my dreams,” he began slowly. “He told me you will be my wife. You are my wife. You are mine. You are for me.”
A sickening, sadistic smile curled the corners of his mouth up in such a way it was almost physically painful to witness. My heart began throwing itself violently against the inside of my chest as adrenaline surged through my system.
“You are my wife,” he stated again. “You are my wife, and now, you come with me. Right now.”
At this, he planted his hands firmly onto the ledge of the window that stood before him and began to lift himself onto it. Realizing now that he was attempting to crawl through the window and into the stand, I practically threw myself across the small distance between he and I and quickly slammed the window shut, locking it. He pushed his weight back down off the ledge, paused, and then proceeded to give me a look that made me TRULY understand the meaning of having one’s blood run cold. I felt the inside of me began to quiver in a way I’d never felt before… An anxious vibration that was working its way throughout my entire body. This was not over yet, I understood this. At this, Ivan offered me a quick wink, and began to move with obvious purpose toward the back of the stand.
Soon I could hear a faint (but distinguished) beep, beep, beep, beep of buttons being punched on the electronic keypad that secured the lock on the backdoor. Ivan was trying to get through the only actual entrance to the stand. In my mind, I knew there was no way he would ever manage to guess the 4-number code, and dismissed any arising concern that he would manage to gain entry. ‘Not going to be that easy,’ I said under my breath, though I was unsure if I truly believed that.
A sudden realization I’d spoken far too soon arrived like a deadweight thrown directly at my gut. The dread that followed what I heard next is something I will never forget. It slammed itself violently into my present state of mind and with so much force it I almost fell back a few steps. Adrenaline immediately overtook my system in its entirety, and in an instant my vision tunneled itself. As I heard the fateful sound of the electronic keypad indicating a successful code entry, followed by the loud and heavy ‘thunk!’ of the steel deadbolt retreating quickly back into the door, all I could see was the door in front of me. Nothing else. It was as if there were a glaring spotlight illuminating that door and the evil that was about to walk through it. All else around me to fell into darkness. Time felt as if it had stopped entirely. I no longer had a sense of it, or of the space around me in which I currently occupied.
As the door began to slowly push open from the outside, I could hear an almost deafening scream resonate powerfully throughout the walls of the stand, expelled solely by a force of fear. As I stood there completely paralyzed, I bore witness to the largest knife I’ve ever seen enter through the opening door first, followed by Ivan’s firmly gripped hand around it. It was only then that I realized the scream I was hearing was my own. As Ivan passed the remainder of his body through the opening of the back door and into the stand, my scream suddenly silenced itself.
Before I continue any further, let me just say, that until you personally experience a situation that demands you to access your ‘fight or flight’ response, you have no idea what that response is going to ultimately be. The type of fear that’s required to trigger this defense mechanism in the first place is more than most people ever realize. How you will react to it will be involuntary. In this moment, I recognized the simple fact that regardless of whatever it is this guy has planned for me here today, I intended to survive it. And not simply survive, but I intended to execute a lesson this guy clearly needed to learn: never underestimate someone’s capability to persevere, or the fight that drives them.
Remembering at this that Jonathan was still in his truck on the other side of the stand, I ran to the window and screamed desperately through the now closed and locked panel of glass- “JONATHAN!! HE’S GOT A FUCKING KNIFE!!” Jonathan’s eyes grew huge, and he threw open the driver’s side door and flew from his truck towards the back to the building. Then, in the furthest corner of my vision I caught sight of a dark, looming presence enter into the space of the small interior of the stand. Ivan, now standing no further than 10 feet from me, reeked of an evil that overtook every inch of space within this small building we now occupied together. It made the air so heavy around me that breathing started to become difficult. It felt thick and toxic in my lungs, nearly causing me to choke.
As my struggle to breath increased, Ivan began to close the few feet of space still between us by taking slow, taunting steps in my direction. His knife was gripped firmly in his hand which rested at his side, but the look he had on his face in this moment was so intense that it felt as if it were made of its own blade. He used his eyes to cut into me, deeply, over and over again, and spoke softly through the visual violence: “You are my wife. You are my wife…”
Ivan ultimately only managed to take a total of three steps toward me before I saw an arm being thrown around his neck from behind. As I stood there in a state of paralysis due to fear, I watched as Jonathan pulled Ivan back by the neck with so much force his feet flew out from beneath him. Suddenly both Ivan and Jonathan were on the ground right outside the door, with Jonathan securing Ivan in a headlock that proved nearly impossible to break away from. Jonathan yelled strict instructions to Ivan not to move, not a single muscle, or he would “choke the fucking life out of him.”
Surprisingly, Ivan remained completely still, never once making any signs of resistance. Jonathan kicked the knife away from his reach and told me to pick it up, secure it, and call the cops. It would feel like hours before the cops arrived, thanks to the massive amount of adrenaline still in my system, though in reality, it was really only a few minutes. Soon, the entire area was completely overtaken by more law enforcement than I had ever witnessed respond to a single call before. Having moved very little from the place I initially stood since calling 911, I watched as at least 6 cops descended on Ivan at once, relieving the grip Jonathan had around his neck and forcibly (more than necessary, to my silent pleasure) detaining him and carrying him, practically hog-tied, into a waiting cruiser.
Apparently, while speaking with the cops after being securely restrained and unable to flee, Ivan insisted, continually, that I was his “wife”.
God had told him, after all, that I was intended for him.
I ‘belonged’ to him, God said.
He was simply there that morning to collect that which he had been promised.
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