This is the first year where I’ll experience Valentine’s Day in my new apartment. It was only a few months ago where I was still staying in my parents’ home where I grew up. Every year since I turned sixteen, on Valentine’s Day I’d received an anonymous card filled with lovely thoughts of me. No one ever came forward to claim the wonderful cards I’d received, but not once did I find them odd. Not until I turned eighteen.

 

That’s the age where you’re legally branded an adult, and it was the first Valentine’s Day where a letter was sent with a lovely card in my name. It was typed in gothic font on pretty pink paper, but there was no signature at the end. After reading it, I immediately spoke with my parents and they called the police.

 

I won’t say all that the letter said, but it seemed like whoever wrote it was upset with me. It talked about how I lost my virginity to a boy that was secretly gay, it talked about how my friends and I tried pot for the first time, but those aren’t what concerned me. It was the talk of the type of clothes I wear to bed, how I masturbate from time to time to sleep, and how that person wanted to violate me in unspoken ways.

 

Whoever wrote the letter spoke of feeling betrayed by my actions, and my never giving them a second thought. It was frustrating and scary as I had no idea who could know everything spoken in the letter. The cops combed through my room looking for hidden cameras and microphones, but there was nothing. There was no evidence of who kept sending me these cards, and the alarming letter.

 

Every year after that, I would receive a card and letter for Valentine’s Day, and would hide them. The letter would be typed in the same font, on the same pink paper as the first one. It would contain person details The cops stopped trying to identify the culprit, and later pinned it on me begging for attention. My parents believed them, and our relationship became strained.

 

It’s years later on Valentine’s Day, and I’m sitting in my apartment reading a letter in terror. The same individual has sent me a card and letter to my new address, and I haven’t given it to anyone. Not even my parents. It’s saying how this person has forgiven me for my past, and that they are excited because they are now able to be with me. It mentioned coming to see me tonight around eleven…

 

It’s now ten fifty-eight as I look at the clock, and I’m unsure of what to do. Do I call the cops? No, it didn’t go well the first time they were involved. As I start looking around the apartment for a weapon, a knock at the door halts me. It’s a soft, yet firm knock that is meant to get someone’s attention, but not frighten them. Seconds seemed to pass as I stared at the cherry oak wooden door of my apartment before I decide to open it.

 

“Hello?” I ask, but there was no answer.

 

Slowly I unlock the door, and cringe at the creaking sound it gives as I open it. To my surprise, no one was there. I stuck my head out the doorway, and looked down both directions of the hall, but no one was there. Before I was able to close the door, still facing outside my apartment, I felt a large hand grab my shoulder from behind. I couldn’t scream before everything went black.

 

Image: Scare Zone

Happy Valentine’s Day! 

                                    xo, Grim

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