Uploaded June 2020 | Updated September 2026, 1 week ago
This is my story about when I was being followed. It had been a few weeks and I knew I was being watched by someone - a man I could never get a good look at.
But now, as the hairs on my neck shot up, I know he's here... behind me.
He first appeared when I got out of an unhealthy relationship where I was stuck with long term crush. It felt like I was finally free until I saw him. In black, staring at me with a sickening grin on his head that rested unnaturally on a deformed neck. And he followed me, stalked me, everywhere I went.
At the time, I had just survived attempting to disappear and had moved back in with family. And yet, I remember feeling so alone. I felt like being kidnapped would be better than this because all my family would do is talk around me, pretended things were okay, and for a moment - I thought - maybe whoever was following me could make me feel less...lonely.
Eventually, my sister introduced me to water-color. She was an artist and showed me how to blend and paint whatever came to mind. And although I was still numb, I found it enjoyable; it was the creative outlet I needed to express all the pain and suffering I felt. It felt better than being in a coma. I would spend hours at the dining room table, surrounded by my painting materials, my music, and my cat. And, for all but a second, I had forgotten about him: the man who had been following me.
But the art was only a momentary distraction. As soon as I was done, I'd fall back into the same old episodes of loneliness and self-pity. I remember feeling cold, despite the warmth of the summer night. I remember sitting in my room for hours in the dark, just scribbling in a notebook. And you know how sometimes you can just tell when someone is looking your way?
That night, I remember feeling like I was being watched. Like I was trapped.
Heart pounding louder than my footsteps, I quickly closed my door and pulled the curtains shut. But that feeling? It stayed.
I rushed to the living room hoping to escape the feeling or, God forbid, whoever was causing it. I remember passing the dinner table, picking up my paintbrush, and thinking I needed some sort of distraction. I scanned the room and eventually landed on the TV and realized two things. One: video games could a good distraction. And two, "maybe if I turned on the TV, at this time of night, whoever was outside would think there were adults here." So I grabbed the remote, plugged in my controller, and turned on the TV.
And, on the screen...that's when I saw his face.
Watching me.
It was the Crooked Man
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This is my story about when I was being followed. It had been a few weeks and I knew I was being watched by someone - a man I could never get a good look at.
But now, as the hairs on my neck shot up, I know he's here... behind me.
He first appeared when I got out of an unhealthy relationship where I was stuck with long term crush. It felt like I was finally free until I saw him. In black, staring at me with a sickening grin on his head that rested unnaturally on a deformed neck. And he followed me, stalked me, everywhere I went.
At the time, I had just survived attempting to disappear and had moved back in with family. And yet, I remember feeling so alone. I felt like being kidnapped would be better than this because all my family would do is talk around me, pretended things were okay, and for a moment - I thought - maybe whoever was following me could make me feel less...lonely.
Eventually, my sister introduced me to water-color. She was an artist and showed me how to blend and paint whatever came to mind. And although I was still numb, I found it enjoyable; it was the creative outlet I needed to express all the pain and suffering I felt. It felt better than being in a coma. I would spend hours at the dining room table, surrounded by my painting materials, my music, and my cat. And, for all but a second, I had forgotten about him: the man who had been following me.
But the art was only a momentary distraction. As soon as I was done, I'd fall back into the same old episodes of loneliness and self-pity. I remember feeling cold, despite the warmth of the summer night. I remember sitting in my room for hours in the dark, just scribbling in a notebook. And you know how sometimes you can just tell when someone is looking your way?
That night, I remember feeling like I was being watched. Like I was trapped.
Heart pounding louder than my footsteps, I quickly closed my door and pulled the curtains shut. But that feeling? It stayed.
I rushed to the living room hoping to escape the feeling or, God forbid, whoever was causing it. I remember passing the dinner table, picking up my paintbrush, and thinking I needed some sort of distraction. I scanned the room and eventually landed on the TV and realized two things. One: video games could a good distraction. And two, "maybe if I turned on the TV, at this time of night, whoever was outside would think there were adults here." So I grabbed the remote, plugged in my controller, and turned on the TV.
And, on the screen...that's when I saw his face.
Watching me.
It was the Crooked Man
#MinuteVideos
Like us on Facebook: facebook.com/minutevideos.productions
Follow us on Instagram: instagram.com/minutevideosdotcom
Support us on Patreon: patreon.com/minutevideos.
