Okay, two people liked my post, so I take it they're interested in my story. It all began as an ordinary day in September. An ordinary day in Raccoon City...
No. It began as an ordinary day in winter, Christmas Eve to be exact. There was a little box in front of my door, it said my name and "personal" on it, no sender, and it contained a scented little pillow and a letter. Even though the pillow did smell a little weird, I thought: "An anonymous Christmas present, how nice!" ... until I read the letter. It was a poem, the contents of which would probably violate quite a few forum rules if I quoted them here, so I'll skip that part. I'll just say, one line suggested that the sender had used the pillow in the box for something you don't usually do with a pillow. (Or perhaps men do... Hell if I know.)
At first I thought it was just a (bad) joke from one of my friends. The initials of the "poet" at the end of the letter even suggested that it was an old friend of mine who I hadn't seen in two years. It would have been strange if he had been behind it, but he wasn't. Neither was any of my other friends, or so they said. But the presents kept coming, not only to my home, but also other places I frequently visited, I started getting mysterious calls in the middle of the night, and one night the doorbell rang and I didn't answer it (even though it itched me to do so), but when I went out the next morning, I stumbled upon yet another present with a letter.
And those letters were even creepier than the presents. That guy knew things about me that no random stranger could possibly have known, suggesting it had to be one of my "friends" after all, or someone who had hacked my computer, or someone who was just watching me very closely. There was a time when I couldn't leave the house without looking over my shoulder every two seconds. Not that I couldn't have defended myself if something had happened, but still.
I went to the police eventually, but there was nothing they could do. The letters were written with a typewriter, the initials weren't much to go on, and examining them for fingerprints would have been pointless because several people had already touched them at that point. It's been quiet for a few years now, I have changed my phone number and not received any more presents ever since. But I still don't know who it was, for all I know he could still be around. All I can say is that I had a stalker for quite a while, and maybe that's why I consider catcalling just some immature fun rather than real harassment.