Creepypasta Collection Book 1

I Used to be a Stalker

We first met at a club. It wasn't the typical "drink way too much and flirt with a stranger, while hoping they'll come home with you" thing. We really connected. We exchanged numbers, dated for a few weeks...But she lost interest. I didn't, though now I wish I had. I was literally crazy about her. I couldn't get her out of my head, and I was willing to do anything to see her again. The only problem was that she didn't want to see me.

I didn't physically follow her at first. I was content constantly checking her social media sites that she updated many times a day. When impersonal status updates weren't enough to give me my fix, I started using her frequent "check-ins" to find out her favorite places and started frequenting them myself, hoping to run into her. It worked a few times, but more often it didn't. That's when I started full on following her, and my world became a nightmare.

I had initially made it a rule not to go around her house. The last thing I wanted was for a neighbor to become suspicious and call the cops. I broke my own rule one night when I watched as she brought a random guy home from a bar. I was furious, and had every intention of telling the guy to fuck off when he left her house. I sat in my car and seethed all night, but he didn't leave. The sun had just started to come up when I completely lost my mind and decided to enter her house to confront them both.

I climbed in through a downstairs window and crept to her bedroom on the second floor. She was alone in her bed. I was sure he hadn't left, so I searched the house for him. He was in the basement, hung from a rope and pulley system upside down with his throat slit. I ran from the house and called the police. I confessed my crimes of stalking and breaking and entering, while they arrested me now-former obsessor, for a much more serious crime. I didn't think the situation could be any more messed up. I was wrong.

She was eating people. She confessed pretty much right away, and they were able to confirm that she was telling the truth by testing the meat in her freezer. She would meet a guy, bring him home, drug him, and slaughter him. Four poor souls followed her home like poor horny puppies and ended up on her menu. When I was given this information, it occurred to me that I couldn't remember ever seeing her buy red meat when I followed her through the grocery store. Then I remembered that one of our dates was at her house, where she served steaks for dinner.