He said that God had kept him lonely for years but now, because I looked so much like his late wife, it was clear I was meant to be his, so he could start life over again, and finally have lots of children like his wife was unable to do. He grabbed my hand and kissed it, and said “I can’t wait to show you our new bed.”

I told him I forgot something at work, he told me I could get it tomorrow.

I told him I needed to pee and he said I could hold it “until we got home”. He wasn’t going to let me out.

He kept talking about how things were different “back then”, and how men are the head of the household, that women are to follow their fathers and then their husbands, and God says this and God says that. He talked about his wedding day, how his wife’s father had “given her” to him.

So I blurted out you’re going to get my father’s permission to marry me before taking me to your home, right? God would want that, right, you need to do that because otherwise we would be living in sin and the marriage bed is not holy (which I remembered from many many many MANY days of church sermons).

He got offended then, and said he knew the Bible better than I did, and of course he knew to ask my father for permission. I told him that we couldn’t live together in sin and we should go to my house before going “home”, and I reminded him that the street wasn’t far.

Still trying to keep the conversation light and joking, I told him “That’s what a Godly man would do” and he wholeheartedly agreed, then we got to the street where I had previously told him I lived. He asked which house was my parents.

I gave him a fake house number, far away from mine, and had him drop me there. He wanted to come inside. I told him I needed to let my parents know “about God sending me a husband” before he could meet them. I said it would take a few days, come back tomorrow, he said “I’ll give you a few minutes, but then we need to be on our way.” I told him to drive around the block so I could have time to pack my clothes. He nodded and finally opened the car door.

I ran to that house’s door, waved to him until he drove away, then sprinted to my house… Where I lived alone.

Double bolted my door and put the couch in front of it that night. Never saw him again. I did not call the police, though I wish I had. I moved in with my boyfriend a few days later, and I insisted on waiting at work until he could pick me up every night.” — sweetalkersweetalker

He was waving at me

“To give some background information, this event occurred a little over a year ago, and I still haven’t been able to even begin to get over it. I’m a 22 year old 5’4 female, and at the time I was 21. My family and I had recently moved to a new town that was a fair amount more rural than the town I had previously lived in, and our new house was a large ranch-style house with a basement. I was home from college, and my parents had left for the week to celebrate their wedding anniversary with their friends who lived several hours away.

Before I continue, I’ll give a quick layout of the house so that you’ll be able to imagine the setting a bit more clearly. There were 3 doors which led into the house. One on the front porch, a sliding glass door on the back porch (which did have a lock and floor-length curtains for privacy), and another door on the other side of the wall from my bedroom which led into the garage and basement. When you walk out of my bedroom and turn, you can see all the way across the house (kitchen, living room, dining area) to the door of my parents bedroom and the stairs leading up from the basement.

It had been a few days since my parents left, and I hadn’t had any problems. They had sent me a couple messages on Facebook letting me know that they arrived to their friend’s house safely, and were having a good time. The day had gone well, and I was sure to check that I’d locked all the doors of the house once the sun started to go down.

It was about 11pm and I was doing my nightly routine of laying in bed and messing around on the computer when I suddenly got this sinking feeling of dread. I felt as if I was being watched. It was summer and we didn’t have A/C, so I had a large box fan in the window blowing the cool night air into my stiflingly hot room. But once that feeling settled over me, I decided that I should remove the fan and close the window, just in case.

Once removing the fan, shutting and locking the window, and pulling down the curtain I felt a bit better. However, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. I lay back in bed and tried to continue what I was doing, though I didn’t put my headphones back on. After a few minutes, I began to hear something that sounded like light scratching.