He followed me home

He Followed Me Home…Twice?

(Innocent victim’s point of view)

Like many people, I worked in the day time and did night school courses in the evening. The courses usually went Monday and Wednesday, or Tuesday and Thursday. I was doing a Tuesday, Thursday course on Dramatic Arts at a school about a twenty minute walk from home. I still lived at my parent’s house, and I knew the neighbourhood well.

I liked the class and my teacher and found myself eager to go. I sometimes got a ride by a friend’s boyfriend; she took a mechanic course for interest. Sometimes she dropped in on our class during the break and watched us.

One night when I didn’t get a ride home, I walked. The weather was nice, and I knew various routes and short cuts home. My parent’s house was located on a busy avenue. The route home would have been longer if I stuck to the main streets, but I was confident to walk on the side streets.

Nothing had ever happened before, and that boosts confidence. In addition, I knew a few people who lived on the various side streets. If ever I felt in danger, I figured I could reach one of those homes in time. If not we have a neighbourhood watch program, and people who supported it had signs up in their window. You could knock on their door, and call for help if needed. These people were frequent in the area too, so I always felt confident walking home after classes at 9:30 pm.

On this particular evening I was distracted by a stray dog, it was friendly and started to follow me. It wore no collar, but I worried that by keeping with me through the various side streets it would become lost. I also worried about the busy avenue my parents resided on; it was no place for a stray dog to follow someone. I tried to lose the poor animal, knowing I couldn’t keep it if it came home. My parents’ absolutely forbid having a dog in their home.

So while I was distracted I suppose it was sometime that the short dark haired man had started to follow me. I was busy shooing the dog from me off the side street so I could continue home. When I lost the dog, I hurried home. All along the busy avenue, I thought about how it would’ve been nice to have a dog, and how my parents would disagree.

From the side street, it’s about a five-minute walk at most to my parent’s house. So I walked the rest of the way quickly, and went up the steps to my house. Unlocking the door, I went inside. I noticed my mom was on the phone in the kitchen, so I kept quiet as I locked the door behind me. I would have to wait to tell her about the dog. So I put my books down on the dining table with my keys and pulled off my jeans jacket, and draped it over the back of a chair.

That was when I heard a noise at the front door. It sounded like my dad who fumbled with his keys in the lock. I knew it couldn’t be my mom because she was on the phone. For some reason I thought it was my dad and turned back to the door to open it. I hadn’t thought of how inept my thought was until later, my dad got up at five in the morning to go to work at the hospital for six. It meant that he should be upstairs in bed since it was going on to 10:00 pm.

Too late to realise my mistake I had the door unlocked, and opened, and stared at the strange short dark haired man. He wore a moustache, and a jeans jacket with jeans and a surprise that equalled mine. My mom asked, “What’s going on?” Looking afraid, he turned and took off at a quick pace down the front steps and disappeared by the corner. My mom who came to see what was going on distracted me.

We closed the door, and I told her what happened. She told me, “It’s a good thing that dog followed you.” I thought about that, and wondered if the stranger had noticed the dog, and been reluctant because of it? When had he started to follow me?

Years had passed between then, and when I was living in an apartment building not far from my parents. I hadn’t seen the stranger at all, and I mentioned my story to several people who found it creepy. My apartment was about five minutes from my parents in the opposite direction of that night school. I had since kept to well lit busy streets following that.

One day after work around 6:00 pm, I went up to my apartment. I noticed I had accumulated many recycling containers, so I took half down. It was when I was finished and returned to the back door I saw him again.

For the second time we looked at each other with surprise and he turned and headed away again. I went upstairs to my apartment stunned! About to call my parents and report, I paused to look at the flashing lights passing by. I hadn’t called the police so I went to the window and looked out.

The police were stopping traffic as a fire truck arrived next, and I peered trying to make out what was on the road. The ambulance came next and that was when I plucked up my courage to go out of the apartment, down the hall, to the front steps and outside. With the police around, I was brave enough to move closer for a look. I noticed the blue jeans, then the blue jeans jacket. Recalling the stranger wore that when I saw him behind the building I stared in shock. They loaded the victim onto a gurney and I heard an onlooker inform a newcomer, “He was hit crossing.”

I saw the face, the moustache, and dark hair. I looked on, as he was loaded into the ambulance. I looked at the police officers milling about while they worked. Weighing the decision to tell them what I knew or not? Had the stranger ultimately paid the price from following me home? Would he be back at it after he recovered in the hospital?

I went back inside the apartment and called my parents telling them the story. My mother told me I might as well stay quiet, the next day though I was searching for a new place to live. I’ve since moved to a new apartment further from my parents home, it’s been years, but any time someone is in the hall outside my apartment I look to see who’s there through the peep hole. It’s funny how an incident can change the way you are, change how you do things.

Anytime I wonder if he’s following me, I chide myself for not telling the police when he was hit out front my old apartment. I had my chance, but I guess due to lack of committed crime I figured the police could do nothing. I figure I’m doing okay since then, I didn’t move out of my neighbourhood. Didn’t install any five star alarm systems, or a series of chain locks, and bolts on my door. I never even got a dog like the one I’d always wanted. I don’t keep myself hidden in my apartment, or consider a body guard. I did however decide to take a women’s self-defence course before I went back to taking night school courses after work.




He Followed Me Home…Can I Keep Him?

(A fighter’s point of view)

I’d always liked football, and wrestling, given a chance I’d be doing either one if I could. Having a variety of active interests, I decided to take a night school course on Tuesday and Thursday’s for Dramatic Arts. It was a cool class, and two guys I got along with knew martial arts. They incorporated it into an improvisation that I enjoyed.

The night school was located about twenty minute walk from my parent’s house where I still lived at the time. I like walking because I have high energy, so although I could get a ride from school from a friend, I enjoyed walking more to be active.

This one night, it was after 9:30 pm and I headed through the side streets taking various short cuts to go home. Along comes this stray dog with no collar and I looked for an owner. I didn’t notice anyone and looked for the house the dog could have come from. Not finding anything I continued and the dog followed. So I tried to lose the poor animal, walking down various driveways before taking off on it.

It found me, and continued to follow along. So I kept trying to take off on it, tossing it a stick, and finally before the busy avenue my house was on I lost it. I didn’t want it to get hurt wandering around on the busy avenue. I wished my parents allowed pets, but at least I didn’t have to worry about it being hit.

I continued home, and hopped up the front steps, unlocked the door and stepped in. I heard my mom on the telephone in the kitchen so I closed the door behind me and locked it. Setting my books down on the dining table, I set my keys on top. Then I pulled off my jeans jacket and draped it over the back of the chair.

That was when I heard a noise at the front door. It sounded like my dad who fumbled with his keys in the lock. I knew it couldn’t be my mom because she was on the phone. For some reason I thought it was my dad and I turned back to the door to open it. I hadn’t thought of how inept my thought was until later, my dad got up at 5:00 am to go to work for 6:00 am at the hospital. It meant that he should be upstairs in bed since it was nearly 10:00 pm. So I opened the door expecting to see my dad. I guess I figured he might have been outside preparing the garbage bins for the morning.

My surprise was the same on the stranger’s face as we stared at each other for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected the door to be suddenly opened; I hadn’t thought he’d been attempting to pick the lock.

He was as short as me, about 5’5 with short dark hair, brown eyes, and a moustache. He wore a jeans jacket, blue jeans, and running shoes. I didn’t get that good a look at him because he turned and went off down the stairs. I guess he might have heard my mom ask, “What’s going on?” I don’t know; I was still surprised someone would try to do something like this.

Coming to my senses, I called in surprise, “HEY!” Then I looked around for something to throw at the retreating figure in order to stop him. I cursed myself for leaving my keys with my books, and I grabbed them before running out the front door calling, “Hey! Where did you go? Come back here? Who do you think you are?” I peered in every direction; he was gone.

My mom called me inside, and I went in disappointed I hadn’t caught him. I told my mom what had happened, and she seemed to think the stray dog following me had been a good thing, discouraging the man from following me home. My opinion was if he had the guts to do that, he should have the guts to stick around. I could’ve used a free tackling dummy to kick about. Sparing partners are few, and far apart, I could’ve used a bit of practice and wished I’d had something right away to clock him with in hopes of catching up to him

I cursed myself for not reacting right away with an elbow right to his surprised mouth!

I was still cursing myself years later when I told the story. I’d moved into the apartment I’m currently in now, and I live near where my parents still do. Someone came once and unlocked the door, but because the bolt was on, they couldn’t get in. They locked it again and took off before I could find them. I wondered about moustache man, but the most I did was install a chain lock that could only be opened by a key. It was to protect the apartment from thieves while I was out at work.

One evening after work, I came home around dinnertime, and I noticed I had accumulated a lot of recycling, so I went down out back to take out half. I started putting it all away in the appropriate bins when I sensed something. Over the years, I’d grown accustomed to sensing trouble or a person of danger near by. I turned and saw moustache; he noticed I saw him. With the element of surprise gone, he turned and headed off through the parking lot, but I chased him this time, “HEY!” He hurried, running now around the other side of the apartment building down the exit driveway with me in pursuit, “HEY! STOP! Get back here!”

Noticing I was chasing him this time, he ran out the driveway to the sidewalk around the corner out of view. I’d be damned if I let him get away this time as he’d done before, and picked up speed still yelling, “You want to follow me? Come on!”

Cursing I sped up closing the distance of the drive when I heard brakes squeal and a loud THUMP. I stopped dead in my tracks, I hadn’t made it around the building yet to see the road, but I knew it was moustache. I slowly and calmly walked the rest of the drive and peered from the corner of the building. A man was kneeling on the road at a figure lying there. The figure wore blue jeans, and a blue jeans jacket, I was sure it was moustache.

To get a better look I moved to the front door of the building, and watched as the police came to block the traffic. Then the fire trucks came, and finally an ambulance, moustache hadn’t moved. When they transferred him to the spinal board I saw his face, it was him.

Disappointed it had ended this way I watched as he was transferred to a gurney, and loaded into the ambulance. This was the way it was going to end? I suppose it was a little ironic he followed me, and when I followed him he got hurt.

Dejected I went inside, back to my apartment. He followed me home…twice, like the dog; I couldn’t keep him. I owned him for his actions; I wanted my own brand of justice. I hate guys that break into houses and rape or attack people; they could learn a GOOD lesson from me. Maybe if they read about someone fighting back, and getting their own brand of justice they’ll think twice before trying it.

Copyright © 2005 by Dèsirée Doucette