The Proper Way to Inform a Woman That You Like Her

Story Submitted by Kelly:

Casey wrote me over a dating site.  He didn't seem at all into himself, and he was really laid back, both of which I had never encountered before in a guy on one of those sites. 

We talked for a couple of weeks, and he seemed as nice as nice could be.  I really liked the stories he told of his time backpacking around Europe, and he seemed very interested in me.  A date was the logical next step.

The date itself, dinner and bowling, went well.  But that's not what this story's about.  It's about what happened after the date.

He dropped me off at home, where I lived with my younger sister, and I went inside and changed into pajamas.  My younger sister and I sat down on our back porch, where we'd often (and still do) talk and catch up.

We were in the midst of talking, likely about the nice time I'd had on the date, when someone in a black cloak and hockey mask ran up the back walk towards us.  We screamed and I shoved my sister into the house.  I followed right behind her, into the kitchen, and slammed the door closed just before the masked figure caught us.

He banged on the door and roared, and I yelled to my sister to call the police.  Then, the masked man's yelling turned into laughter.  From the other side of the door, I heard, "Kelly, it's me, Casey.  I was just kidding.  Don't call the cops."

I called through the door, "If you're Casey, tell me something that only he would know."

He said when his birthday was and mentioned a couple of things that we had talked about that night.  The voice was his, too.  Less panicked but more confused, I opened the door slightly with the intent of asking him why he wanted to frighten me.

He shoved the door open, stepped into the kitchen, took my face in his hand, held it tight, and said, "Now you're mine!"

I kicked up, between his legs, and he fell back and collapsed onto the kitchen floor.  "You fucking bitch!" he yelled over and over.  I grabbed a broomstick, although what I would have done with it, I don't even know. 

"Get out of here," I heard myself say, "I never want to see you again, psycho."

He dragged himself onto my back porch, screaming, "You're going to hear from my lawyer!  My lawyer!  I was just fooling around!  You piece of shit bitch!"

I slammed the door behind him, we turned all the lights in the house on, and my sister and I practically huddled together in fear for the rest of the night.  Not too brave, maybe, but I wasn't about to go to bed with that creep stalking around outside the house.

Never heard from him or his lawyer.