I think I just got my intruder killed. – By ParanormalWatermelon

My hands are shaking as I type this. I feel terrible about what I did, and I can’t shake the Tell-Tale Heart vibes coursing through my heart and veins. Sorry, I realize I’m stalling. Maybe you guys can help me sort out my thoughts.

It all happened a few days ago. My parents were on vacation in Italy (I’d like to pretend I’m not jealous) with their church group, so I was left to stay in our house alone. I don’t have any siblings, so my parents told me to have friends stay over so that I wasn’t alone at night, They’re pretty overprotective, so it made them feel better to have people stay with me. Usually they’d never want my boyfriend staying overnight, but given the circumstances, they were okay with it. After a few nights of staying with my friends, my boyfriend and I convinced my parents that he could stay over. He promised me we’d both be clothed and he could sleep on the couch if I wanted.

I think I just got my intruder killed

We had a pizza and played video games until around ten. Then, we put on a movie and cuddled a bit on the oversized suede couch. We were both pretty tired after that, so we fell asleep on the couch around one in the morning. I was really comfortable on the couch, and I felt really secure with my boyfriend there. That all changed around 3 am.

I’m not sure what woke me. It might have been some strange noises or a sudden shift in the air. I sat up on the couch groggily. My boyfriend was still knocked out on the couch , his arm dangling lazily to one side. Dazed, I scanned the room, and that’s when I saw it.

There was a fucking man standing in the archway between our living room and the hallway to the basement stairs. He was just standing there, staring at my boyfriend and I. His hair was wild and sticking out in different directions, but it was too dark to make out any other features. My body froze, but not before a scream escaped my throat.

My boyfriend jolted up, suddenly wide awake. “What the hell?” I felt my breath tremble as he let out a small gasp, seeing the man too. He grabbed the TV remote as a weapon instinctively and clenched his jaw in anticipation.

The man rushed at us, and I screamed again, recoiling as hard as I could. “Back the fuck off!” My boyfriend screamed, trying to push the fear out of his voice.

The man stopped in his tracks and threw his hands up in the air. “Shhh,” he said, trying to silence us as we stared at him in fear, “I’m not here to do anything to you. I, uh, just listen to me!”

My boyfriend and I just stood there, frozen, calculating our next move. I don’t know if my parents had a secret stash of guns anywhere, and my softball bats, crow bar, and other heavy tools were in the garage. If my boyfriend and I lunged at him, he could kill us. Who knows what he had on him.

The man stepped closer into a patch of light illuminated by the digital clock on top of my TV. I recognized him instantly. He was the local druggie who lived just across the street. He was always high on something, and the police were constantly on his trail. My dad has put in numerous complaints to the homeowner’s association about the state of his sloppy and ill-maintained house as well as to the police because of the shit he always pulled late at night that kept us up while he was drunk or high out of his mind. I couldn’t remember his name—Kyle or Carl or something—but everyone in the neighborhood knew to stay away from him.

“Let me explain,” he frantically whispered. His eyes were darting from side to side, and there was a look of panic on his face. The pupils of his eyes were extremely dilated, his eyes were bright red, and there were bruises up and down his limbs. I’ve never really done any drugs, so I had no idea what he was on, but it was clear he was either tripping on something or utterly insane.

My boyfriend eyed him down and said once again, “You need to get the fuck out.”

The guy got a pleading look in his eyes and said something like, “No! You don’t understand! This house is the only place that’s safe. They’re coming for me!” He was wobbling and stumbling around. I saw that he was in no condition to hurt us, and my boyfriend and I could easily beat the daylights out of him.

“Who’s coming for you?” I asked, extremely creeped out by his last statement. I knew you could hallucinate weird shit, but this guy was taking it to the extreme.

“Does it matter?” My boyfriend cut me off. He focused on the man, “You need to get out of here, buddy.”

The man started rambling. It was coming out of his mouth so fast, but I’ll do my best to recall what he said. “No you don’t get it. Please, just let me stay. This house is the only protect place. It’s safe.” His bullshit ravings caught me off guard, but he continued, “They’ve been chasing me—the shadows, those demons in my ears—I’m not safe anywhere else.”

“Alright,” my boyfriend’s fear turned to anger as he rushed at the man, “it’s time for you to leave.”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” The man screeched in an unbearably high tone. “This isn’t even your house, loverboy.”

My stomach dropped even further. He knew I live here. I hated to admit that I was deeply afraid. “You need to get the hell out of here.” My boyfriend and I had to physically push him out the door and onto the porch. I tried my best to keep my hands from shaking.

The man ran for his life as soon as he was outside. My boyfriend called the police and explained what happened, but I was too shaken up to speak. I kept thinking about what the man had said. Something about spirits chasing him. What was my house even safe from? If it was all some big drug trip, why would he choose my house?

I decided not to think about it and thanked my boyfriend for calling the cops. Understandably, we didn’t want to stay in my house after the incident, so he offered to drive me to his house where I could stay the night. Since it was my house the man broke into, I was pretty shaken up and didn’t want to relive it by telling my story to the police just yet, so I went and packed up a few things for the sojourn at my boyfriend’s while he handled the police.

They searched the house and found the man had gotten in through the backdoor leading into the deck. It’s a pretty flimsy door, so all he had to do was break the lock and slip in. I was finally able to give the cops my statement, and they went outside to check around the yard and look for the guy while my boyfriend drove me to his house. They were pretty familiar with the man (I was right, his name was Carl) since he’s gotten in trouble for all sorts of things, so they didn’t hesitate to believe us (thank God) and knew who they were searching for.

My boyfriend and I did our best to get some sleep on the couches in his basement. In the morning, I called my parents to explain what happened. They freaked out, as usual. I tried to convince them to stay on vacation; I was a big girl after all, but they insisted on booking the next flight home and would be back the following day.

It was a Saturday, so I spent my day going to various friends’ houses so I wouldn’t have to go back home. That night, when I was over at my boyfriend’s, I got a call on my cell phone from a police officer working on the case saying that they found Carl’s body in the wooded bike trail around my neighborhood. I felt the wind being knocked out of me, but I pressed for more details. The officer told me he wasn’t allowed any more information and hung up.

I was stunned. My boyfriend did a quick google search and found that the story had already leaked into the news. The articles didn’t show any pictures or mention my family’s house, but the words they used painted a clear enough picture to have me curled up on the couch, speechless.

The most reliable article said that a jogger had found Carl’s body that morning on the trail and immediately called the police. The Chief of police showed up, along with the coroner to investigate, and what they saw horrified them.

Carl was lying in a pool of his own blood. The coroner deduced that he had likely died right there, rather than being placed post mortem, and whisked the body away. The autopsy showed that Carl had died of blunt force trauma, likely from a fall of great distances. But the trees around that stretch of trail weren’t very tall, and they were pretty flimsy. Carl couldn’t have just climbed a tree and killed himself.

The worst part, though, is that Carl’s body was…mangled. Not sprawled out from the fall, but physically mangled. His limbs were twisted around his torso in knots, and his face was completely disfigured, like someone had been trying to make mashed potatoes out of him. To make it worse, all of his toes and teeth were completely gone, and all of his hair was burned (yes, burned) off. One witness described him as “not even looking human.”

Right now, the police are trying to find the killer, but something tells me they won’t find anyone. My boyfriend dismissed Carl’s claims as the rants of a raving lunatic and refuses to entertain the idea that any of it was true. But I couldn’t rule that possibility out. I’ve never believed in demons or anything, but whatever happened to Carl couldn’t have been done by a couple of angry drug dealers.

What if he was right? What if he really wasn’t going to take anything or hurt us, and he really was hiding from something? What if they—whoever they were—got to him? I just can’t shake that guilty feeling that I lead a man, albeit an insane one, to his death. Do any of you have any advice?