I was in a very abusive relationship from the first year of high school, all the way to my last year of university. We had known each other since elementary school and our families were also close. She was very kind at the beginning. However, as time went on, things began to get very scary.
The abuse started off with little things. She would insult and berate me for nothing and she began smacking me when she thought I did something stupid. It got much worse every year we were together. It was both physical and psychological. The tactics she would utilize in order to prevent me from leaving her were various and relentless. She threatened to kill herself if I left her, or hurt me or someone in my family. She used to tell me, if I called the police on her, she would stab herself and tell them I did it. For the record, throughout our whole relationship I had never laid a finger on her. I always tried my best to deescalate the tense situations. Looking back now, putting up with that sort of behavior was definitely something which kept me trapped in that situation.
When she wasn’t hitting me, or insulting me, she would sit on the couch for hours on end, scratching and picking at her scalp, pulling bits of her hair out in the process. I’d find strands of her hair all over the apartment, sometimes with drops of blood near them. I truly believe she had some sort of undiagnosed mental illness. I tried to get her help many times, but she would never accept it. Even though she treated me horribly, a part of me still loved her and wanted to help her.
When men are in abusive relationships, I think many of us are ashamed or scared to tell people. Either we fear we'll be perceived as weak, or we fear we won't be believed at all. But it's important to remember that anyone can be the victim of an abusive partner. It’s crucial to leave them immediately, tell your loved ones and go to the authorities. If you don't, you'll risk being in a situation like I was. It will only get worse.
At the time, I felt as though there was nothing I could do to get out of that situation. I genuinely felt fear for my life, and the lives of my family. I stayed awake for nights on end because I was afraid she would kill me in my sleep.
But eventually, I got desperate. I decided to hire a private investigator to collect information on her and help document the abuse she put me through on a daily basis. I hid cameras in our apartment, recorded our conversations, and took pictures of the cuts and bruises she would inflict onto me. Eventually, we gathered enough evidence to build a solid case against her. My intention was to only use this information for legal purposes. I never went public with it or used it as blackmail material. I wanted to keep it as private as I possibly could.
One night, she had another outburst. She began to hit and bite me. But I finally decided that I was done being a victim. I locked myself in the bedroom, barricaded the door, and called the police.
I waited for what felt like an eternity, as she violently banged on the door. “I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna fucken kill you!” she screamed over and over. Eventually, she walked away from the door, and I heard her screaming in pain. Turns out, she had burned her arm on the stove in order to show the police officers and blame me.
When the police arrived, she showed them the massive burn on her forearm, and told them I was the one who had assaulted her. However, I handed the officers the envelop and USB drive with all the evidence my private investigator and I had gathered. When she realized she could no longer force me to stay with her, she became irate, and lunged at me. Thankfully, the police officers quickly subdued her, put her in handcuffs and took her to the station. As I saw her leaving in the squad car, I began crying. I knew she couldn’t hurt me anymore and I could finally move on with my life.
I decided not to press charges, because I didn’t think prison would help her. I knew she needed professional help. I also didn’t want to relive my trauma in a court room in front of a large group of people. I just wanted it all to be over, her to stay away from me, and to move on with my life. But you better believe I kicked all her shit to the curb and filed the mother of all restraining orders.
After it was over, she moved back in with her parents. We lived in a small town, so even though I never went public with any of this, word still got around about what had happened. Eventually, everyone knew what kind of person she was. Because of this, her parents decided to move the family to another state, and she went with them.
One year went by and it was one of the best years of my life. I managed to score a new job and met the love of my life who later became pregnant with our first child. I didn’t hear anything from or about my ex and hoped it would stay that way. Until I got a phone call one night...
I was sitting on the couch watching TV with my fiancée. I answered the phone and it was my mom. She told me she got a call from my ex’s aunt, who informed her that my ex had taken a concoction of various pills, and drowned herself in a lake near her house, in an apparent suicide.
I was in shock. A part of me was sad, and blamed myself for not making sure she got the help she needed while we were together. But, I also knew I was her victim. Despite everything she put me through, I tried my best to get her the help she so desperately needed. But there was nothing else I could have done under those circumstances.
However... I’d be lying if I said there also wasn’t a part of me that felt... relief. I know that sounds awful, but knowing my abuser no longer existed in this world carried some kind of twisted comfort on it’s own. Now, I knew that she couldn’t hurt me anymore, no matter what. At least... That’s what I thought.
Another year passed, and my beautiful baby boy was born. My fiancée and I have been learning the ropes of parenthood. I had largely moved on from the trauma of my previous relationship, made peace with what had happened to my ex, and forgiven myself for not being able to help her. Everything was finally going my way.
Until last night... My fiancée and I were asleep in our room. This was one of the rare occasions when our newborn was also fast asleep in his crib, and not crying the entire night. I had been working long hours while my fiancée stayed home on maternity leave. On top of that, we’re currently spending most of our free time scanning the housing market for a new place. Needless to say, we were getting some much needed rest.
Suddenly, I was awoken by what felt like a very cold, wet hand wrap around my neck. I jumped up immediately and looked around. My fiancée and son were fast asleep. There was no one else in the room, but my neck was now wet and cold. I figured it was bad dream or something and the wetness on my neck was just sweat. I didn’t think much of it, and attempted to go back to sleep.
As I shut my eyes, the sound of a woman’s sobbing began echoing through the apartment. It started off quiet, but got progressively louder. I shot back up and listened hard. I kept hearing it. It wasn’t in my head. I slowly got up out of bed, walked out of the room and shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it on my way out.
I stepped into a puddle as I made my way down the hall. I noticed a trail of water leading all the way to the living room. I began to follow it. As I neared the living room, I heard a strange scratching noise as the sobbing continued. It sounded like someone was scratching their scalp. Immediately, I began to think of my ex.
“That’s impossible.” I whispered to myself.
As soon as I got to the living room, I stopped dead in my tracks... A woman with long wet, jet black hair was sitting on the couch facing away from me. She was crying and scratching at her scalp. At that moment, I knew who it was, but I didn’t want to believe it. I was frozen with fear.
Suddenly, she stopped crying and slowly turned her head around. Darkness concealed much of her face, but I saw her eyes very clearly. They were filled with anger and hatred. As she turned her neck, I could hear the cracking of her bones.
Then, she jumped up onto the couch as she simultaneously turned around completely to face me. I could see her more clearly now, as the street lights outside the window illuminated her face. Her skin was pale white and wrinkled, her clothing was wet and torn, and her hair was messy, covering parts of her face. It was her...
“What.. What are... How...” I struggled to get words out as I began to hyperventilate. I thought I was surely dreaming, or maybe I had gone mad. We stood there for a while, just staring at each other. I don’t know for how long.
Suddenly, she let out an awful, bloodcurdling scream and lunged at me on all fours. I quickly turned around and bolted back toward the bedroom. The only thought on my mind was to prevent her from getting to my son and fiancée. As I ran down the hall, I looked back, and saw her crawling on the ceiling like a spider at lightning speed. Her hair was covering her face as her head violently thrashed from side to side.
I got to the bedroom door and stood in front of it, ready to prevent her from getting in. But, when I turned around, she was gone. My fiancée unlocked the door and swung it open.
“What the hell is going on?” she whispered with a concerned look on her face. “You’re gonna wake the baby.”
I couldn’t get the words out to explain it to her. I turned on all the lights and searched through every corner of the apartment. I found drops of water on the ground. I also scanned the couch, and noticed wet, muddy foot prints on the beige cushions. My fiancée came into the living room and I showed her all the evidence. Her first thought was that someone had broken in, but then I told her what I really saw. Surprisingly, she said she believed what I had seen. I’m not sure if she just said that to calm me down, or if she really meant it. She hugged me as I began to sob.
“It was her... It was her...” I kept saying.
“She can’t hurt you anymore, baby.” She replied, as we embraced.
But then, to our pure horror, we heard a distorted voice from the baby monitor.
“I’M GONNA FUCKEN KILL YOU!” The voice snarled. Then, our son began to scream.
We immediately ran to our bedroom, but as we were about to reach the door, it slammed shut and locked on it’s own. We pounded on it, as our son continued to cry even louder. Adrenaline took over, and I gave the door three swift kicks until it ripped off it’s hinges. We ran inside and found our son was still crying, but thankfully, unharmed. My fiancée picked him up, and we noticed his sheets were soaked with mud and water. He was also covered with long black hairs. If she didn’t believe me at first, she definitely did at that point.
We left the apartment immediately after, and are now staying at my parent’s house. I don’t think we’ll ever be going back. I was never a person who believed in the supernatural, but after what happened last night, I don’t know anymore. Maybe she is somehow drawn to that apartment since its where we used to live together, so hopefully staying here will prevent her from finding us.
My fiancée is scared, I’m scared, and we don’t know how, or if we’re going to sleep tonight. We threw some holy water around my parent’s house in an attempt to keep her away, but we don’t know if that’s going to work. I thought I would never hear from her again, but two years after I broke free from the abuse, and one year after her death, she is still inflicting new trauma onto my family and I.
Even from the grave, she continues to torture me...
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