I live in the state of Washington in the Pacific Northwest. I used to work at a late-night diner on the side of the highway. I was 29 years old and worked the closing shift pretty often.
The diner would close at 2:00 a. m. , which was incredibly late considering how scarcely populated the area is.
But even so, given the proximity to the highway, there would usually be at least one or two customers in the building until closing time. Having grown up in the South and moved up here, I can tell you the people are different. In the South, there's a huge emphasis on hospitality and small talk, but up here people are kind but not overly friendly.
I feel like the air lends itself more to introversion. I used to be a waitress down South, and I'm telling you from experience that the customers were a lot chattier down there. Up here, people seem to want to keep to themselves a little more.
This was approaching closing time; the kitchen's last call was at 2:00 a. m. Technically, even though the diner was advertised to close at 2:00, it was really frowned upon if a customer would come in and order something that late.
But it did happen. It happened that night, as a matter of fact. There were only two employees in the building: myself and the chef.
It was about 1:50 a. m. when in came a lone, heavyset man.
He was wearing awkwardly high jeans, a gray shirt tucked in, a brown jacket, and he had a brown mustache and glasses. I asked him if he'd like to sit at the bar or a table, and he asked for a table. He kept smiling the whole time, so I smiled back.
I gave him a menu and informed him the kitchen closes in 10 minutes. He looked at the menu for a few seconds and then said he'd like a black coffee and some French toast. Around this time, he also introduced himself as Nolan.
Luckily, his order was simple enough. I went into the kitchen and told the chef the order, who still had a slightly pained expression, to which I just responded, "I know. " I stepped back out to the dining area, and Nolan waved me over.
As I neared, he struck up a conversation with me, something rather unusual for folks around here at this hour. He asked me if I was from the area and started complaining about all the potholes in the road around here. I responded, "Yeah, it's all the freezes we get in the winter," basic small talk.
I did tell him that I was from around here, but he perhaps pressed a bit too specifically about where I was from. I told him a vague general area; I never tell people exactly where I live, obviously. He said he had just moved to town not too long ago.
As he spoke, I analyzed his body language and character in general. He seemed like a somewhat nerdy older guy, and this may have been his idea of flirting. It didn't bother me much, though; I dealt with it back home in the South all the time, so I was used to it.
Since this was the last customer of the night, the chef personally came out and placed his food on the counter. I went to grab it and bring it to Nolan. By this point, he had his food and coffee, and everything else was about ready to close up shop.
I wiped down the counters and tables and everything. I stayed behind the counter a little further away from Nolan because I was tired of conversing with him; my social energy was drained, and I was ready to get home and go to sleep. When he finally finished his food, I went to drop off his check before he even asked for it, politely nonverbally implying that we were closed and wanted to get home.
He paid by card, and then he left. The chef would be the one closing up the place, so after cleaning Nolan's table and gathering all my belongings, I said goodbye to the guy working in the kitchen and walked out to my car. There were three cars in the lot: mine, the chef's, and a third one that I couldn't explain.
It was a silver, older-looking car, like a 2005 Toyota or Audi or something. I wasn't sure; I also couldn't tell if the windows were tinted or if it was just so dark out that I couldn't see into the car. But I wasn't able to tell if someone was in the car or not.
It was parked on the dirt closest to the highway. I wondered if it was Nolan's car. I got in my car and started heading home.
The diner to my home is about 20 minutes. I was on the highway when a ding came from my dashboard, and the tire pressure screen popped up. I started freaking out; I didn't know how to change a tire.
I'd never even called my roadside assistance company. I was still a decent way from home, and the tire pressure in my rear passenger side tire was dropping rather rapidly, all of a sudden from 20 down to 10. Then I started feeling not just the steering wheel shake, but the entire car shake.
I had to pull off the road. I came to a stop and got out of the car real quick to look at the tire, and it was as flat as could be. Suddenly, as if they were just flicked on, a pair of headlights lit up the side of the road as it approached me, then slowed to a stop.
I hurried back inside my car and locked the door. I truly didn't know what to do, and then there was a light tap at my window. I looked up and saw Nolan, the man from the restaurant.
He waved at me with a smile. He was wearing gloves. Now, for the sake of the story, I'll use a fake name for myself.
Nolan said through the window, "Cathy, is that you? Are you okay? " He laughed, acting like it was such a coincidence.
I felt a knot in my stomach; suddenly, I instantly knew he did this. I'm not a dumbass. He motioned for me to lower the window.
I lowered it, literally, maybe two inches—just enough to speak through. He asked if I needed help. I told him I had a flat tire.
He played dumb, asking me which one. I said, "The back passenger side. " He started walking over to the other side, and at that moment, I dialed 911 on my phone.
I let the phone sit on my lap as Nolan walked back to my side. He sat through the window with his creepy smile, saying that he knows how to change a flat. He asked me to step out of the car, and I said, "I'm waiting for my boyfriend to come and help me change it.
" During all of this, I heard the 911 operator speaking into the phone, but it wasn't loud enough for Nolan to hear. I tried to make it as clear as possible to the operator without being too obvious for Nolan to catch on. I basically said, "I'm not sure how I got a flat, but I'm waiting for my boyfriend to come help me change it.
Thanks for offering to help, sir. " He stood there for a second with a much less friendly look on his face, then he walked away from the window. I took this opportunity to speak very quietly into the phone that this man slashed my tire and he's trying to get me out of the car.
The operator asked for my location, and I quickly opened the map on my phone and told her the name of the road I pulled off onto. The deafening shattering of glass immediately to my left made me scream as shards of glass fell onto my lap. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I’m on the phone with the police!
It’s the police! ” As I showed him the phone screen, he looked at my screen and then reached inside the car. I screamed again at the top of my lungs, hysterically crying, expecting him to try and grab me or choke me, but instead, he grabbed my phone and launched it in the direction of the highway.
He then ran back to his car and sped off down the dark road. I heard the screeching of his tires as he made a sharp right turn and then disappeared. I wanted to go look for my phone, but with no flashlights in the car, I’d be running out there to look in the pitch dark; the only light was from my car.
I had no choice but to wait and pray that Nolan or whatever his real name was didn't come back. I am very grateful that I was able to tell the 911 operator my location in time. I heard the unmistakable sound of police sirens in the distance, and I started to cry tears of joy when I realized they were getting closer.
I got out of my car and started waving my arms in the air until I saw the flashing lights turn off the highway onto this random road. Pretty soon, a second police car showed up, and then a third. During all this time, we found my phone, which was completely destroyed.
I described the man to them along with his car and pointed in the direction in which he went. One of the police officers left in that direction as they also put the word out on their radio. They were honestly the nicest cops I'd ever met in my life.
They changed my tire for me, and one of them even gave me an escort home, having me follow from behind. The main officer told me that they would investigate the video surveillance from the diner and keep me updated with any news. I got a call a week later from that officer informing me that the investigation was still ongoing based on the surveillance footage.
That was the last I’d heard of it. I don't think they caught him. Sadly, I never returned to that diner job again after that night; I was not risking that man ever finding me again.
I'm a 15-year-old guy working at an amusement park in Upstate New York. This only happened a year ago, and it still gives me chills thinking about it. It was a crisp October Sunday, one of the last few days the park would be open until it closed in May.
It seemed like just another normal day at work—boy, was I wrong. After checking in and working at my station for about five hours, I looked at my watch: 4:55 p. m.
was the time my shift ended in five minutes. I felt relieved and exhausted as I began packing up my things. A man with a scraggly beard and messy hair approached me.
He was wearing a gray T-shirt with a few stains on it and black sweatpants covered in holes. I thought to myself, I just need to get through this last one. "Can I help you?
" I asked the man. He stared at me for a few seconds and then kept turning his head as if someone were following him. I was starting to get a little creeped out.
"Sir, can I help you? " I repeated my question, starting to sound a little annoyed. He looked at me for a couple of seconds and finally responded, saying with a stutter, "Where are your bathrooms?
" He said this in a whispered tone. of voice up the hill to the right. I responded cheerfully.
The man started to walk in that direction. As he did, he kept turning and looking at me. I avoided eye contact, even though I was more freaked out than ever.
Next thing I knew, one of my co-workers came to take my spot. I grabbed my things, practically sprinted through the park to the back room to punch out of my shift, and then to the bathroom. I changed out of my work clothes and headed to the employee parking lot.
I sat on a bench and waited for my co-worker Jordan, who was 17, to pick me up. After waiting for what seemed like hours, Jordan finally picked me up. Before going home, we went to the local diner to eat some cheeseburgers for dinner.
While eating in the diner, I noticed something odd: the same man who I helped find the bathrooms at the park was at the diner, sitting a couple of tables down, staring right at me. My heart skipped a beat. I told Jordan about it and he just shrugged it off.
“Probably just a coincidence, Ben. Don’t worry. ” “Yeah,” I said, even though I was pretty concerned.
After dinner, we got back in the car and started the 35-minute drive back home. At the first red light we came to, I saw something that made my heart skip another beat: there, sitting in his white Honda to the right of us, was the man from the park and diner. Sure enough, he was staring back at me.
I told Jordan and he started to worry a little. After arriving on our street, we made sure to take a couple of laps around the block to make sure that man wasn’t following us. Once it was clear, Jordan dropped me off at home.
My mom and sister were out at the mall and my dad was on a business trip, so I was home alone. After immediately jumping into bed, I heard a noise at my window. I slowly got up and looked outside and saw something that will forever send chills down my spine: right there on my front lawn was the man, looking right at my window, smiling.
I immediately grabbed my phone and called 911, but once the police arrived, the man was gone. I immediately quit my job at the amusement park right after the park closed for winter. I haven’t seen the man since this incident.
This was an experience that I’ll never forget. I was working a late-night shift at the diner I had worked at for a year. It was a rainy night; in fact, it was pouring.
Nights like these usually meant less customers because people aren't exactly rushing to drive in the rain. I was expecting a slow night; it was, for the most part. I was working until midnight.
At some point, closer to the end of my shift, in came a man and a woman significantly younger looking than him. He looked about 40; she looked like she was in her 20s. They both looked at me the second they walked in, and so I went over to greet them and ask how many.
They said just two, so I brought them to a table. They took a while to order, and I noticed they were talking really quietly to each other. After they did order, the man started striking up a conversation with me.
I'm a generally talkative person, which was why I've always thrived in the hospitality industry, so I started chatting their ears off since it was a slow night anyway. Typical waitress-customer back and forth. The girl oddly didn’t say much; the man did most of the talking, so I started directing my questions more to him.
I can't remember every last thing we said to each other, obviously, but one thing that stuck in my head was when the man asked me, “Do you live alone? ” I did live alone, and still do live alone. I answered his question honestly, saying I live about 10 minutes north up the road and that it's really quiet and boring around here.
At the time, I didn’t see his question as any kind of red flag, albeit maybe a bit strange of a question, but something about a man being with another female makes you automatically assume they’re not a threat. I made jokes about being stuck here forever and such, and then walked away from the table. I'd say about 45 minutes later, they finished and left.
Fast forward probably an hour later and we were closing up the place. I said goodbye to my co-workers and rushed to my car to avoid getting more soaked than I needed to from the rain. It was still pouring outside.
I drove home slow because of the conditions. The second I got home, I ran straight to the front door and let myself in. I didn’t even notice that neither of the other tenants' cars were parked outside.
My living situation was the middle floor of a home with three apartments in it. There's a side entrance with a stairway that has an entrance to all three floors. My being on the first floor meant that I could enter through the front door.
After setting my keys and stuff down on the kitchen counter, there was a manic pounding at the front door. It was nearly 1:00 a. m.
I had no idea who it could be, besides maybe one of the other tenants in the house. There are two doors: the glass storm door and the inner door. I always keep both locked for safety.
I opened the inner door and saw a girl on the other side of the storm door. She was drenched, wearing a gray sweater with the hood up, partially obscuring her face. She begged me through the door to let her in so she could.
. . Use a phone before doing that.
I first had to feel her out. Of course, I asked her if she was lost. She replied that a creepy man was following her around and she needed help.
Something about this girl, though, was strikingly familiar. I asked her who the man was and where he was. She turned around and then said, "I don't know.
" She kept begging me to open the door; she even tried opening it herself. I then realized why she looked familiar: she looked like the girl from the diner who was with that man. So, I asked her straight up, "Weren't you at my diner before?
" She didn't acknowledge my question; maybe she didn't hear me, but she turned around once again and started freaking out, pounding on the door, saying, "There he is! " I looked beyond her to the street, and I saw a large man slowly walking toward the house. As the man got closer, the girl kept looking at me with a look that implied she was more confused than anything as to why I wasn't opening the door.
The man got close enough for me to realize I was right: it was that man from the diner, and this was the girl sitting with him at the diner. I think she saw it in my eyes the moment I realized, and she turned to the man and screamed, "Go! " The man started charging at the door, and I slammed the inner door shut and locked it.
I didn't hear any knocks or bangs. I wasn't about to open the door again to check if they were still there, though. I went to the stairway to go upstairs and knock on the upstairs tenant's door.
The stairway is separated from the three apartments by a door on each level. After knocking a bunch of times, nobody answered. I tried the same thing at the downstairs door; no answer either.
This was when I looked out the windows and realized none of their cars were here tonight. I was alone in the house. I went back up to my apartment and then locked the stairway door.
My mind was racing, conjuring up possible explanations. The most obvious explanation was that it was a trap to get me to open the door so that they could rob me—or worse. It suddenly made sense why that man asked me if I lived alone.
I had to just sit on the couch for a few minutes and think. All I could hear was the sound of the pouring rain outside. I thought about calling the police but chose not to in that moment.
After a few minutes, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed when I heard a knocking sound. I left the bathroom to listen, and I was right: it was a knocking sound. It was coming from the stairway door.
I walked over to it, thinking it was one of the tenants. I said, "Who is it? " There was no verbal response, but whoever it was knocked again.
I said both of the other tenants' names—no response. The only thing I could say was, "If you don't identify yourself, I'm calling the police. " I practically screamed it; they heard me for sure.
They knocked once again, so I yelled, "What do you want? " A voice from the other side said, "Your blood on me. " I ran to my room, locked myself inside, and called the police.
I hid in my closet while I was on the phone, and I stayed in there. The sounds of the rain, wind, and thunder outside constantly startled me. I worried about any little sound coming from inside the house.
It was the longest ten minutes of my life before I was told to let the police inside the house at the front door. They wrote a report of everything; they checked the front and backyard, then suggested I find another place to sleep for a few nights. I took that advice and packed a bag real quick while they were there, and then left to drive to my parent's house for the night.
I returned the next day to the house. There was a knock at the stairway door, and this time it was actually my neighbor from upstairs. I opened the door, and he pointed at the door and asked, "What's this about?
" I was horrified to see a message on the door saying, "Thanks for the service, Beth. " It was written in marker. I couldn't stay there for a while; I had to stay with my parents for a few weeks until this blew over.
I got a new apartment pretty close by the following month—better safe than sorry.
