For months, I felt watched and heard noises upstairs, despite living alone. Yesterday, I found my living room rearranged, prompting a police call. They found nothing but asked if I’d had contractors in—six months ago, I hired Rainer for window work. That night, new security cameras caught a man emerging from the attic at 3:12 a.m., drinking my orange juice. Police found his hideout—blankets, food, and a burner phone with photos of me, some predating his job. His real name, Ellis Druen, had a stalking history. He’s now jailed for breaking and entering and surveillance.
Safety shattered, I stayed with my cousin, then returned, painting walls, adopting a dog, and connecting with neighbors. I learned to trust my gut—instincts that likely saved me. If something feels off, check it out and speak up, even if dismissed. I wasn’t paranoid; I was right.
