How my Life was Almost a Psychological Thriller

One day, upon returning to my apartment, I was greeted by an envelope on my bed. There was no return address, just one of those mail stamps that informed me it had been sent through SLC. It had my address on the front, but no name. The handwriting looked like it had been done by a five year old or maybe a psychopath.

"Roommates," I inquired of my roommates, "What is this?"

Nobody knew, and the general consensus was that since I knew more kids than they did, it was probably for me. I opened the envelope.

There was no message inside, just a big, messy drawing of a clock face. The time, according to the clock, was 6:40. "Weird," I announced to my roommates. I tried to think if any of my cousins would have pulled this kind of thing. I came to the conclusion that no, they wouldn't, and also none of the under-ten crowd knew my address.

Two days later, there was another one, sent through a different city. This time the clock face said 5:00. Things were starting to get a little weird; the two different cities especially. I told my coworker about it in the format of a hilarious story, but my boss overheard and came over.

"Bethan," she said in a very serious voice, "You need to take those to the post office and ask about them."

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," I replied.

"And then I want you to go get some mace." she continued. My face fell dramatically.

 My boss went on to tell me the tale of a stalker she used to have (going into great detail, describing the look on his face when he finally CAME TO HER FRONT DOOR, etc.) and my coworker chimed in with a story about how his mother in law had a stalker who was so persistent and evil that she had to move.

I thanked them for their heartwarming tales and realized that Suddenly everything was really, really scary.

What had happened at 6:40 and 5? I wondered. Did I get home at those times? Did my roommates get home at those times? Suddenly I was positive that one of my roommates had returned home at those exact times this week and someone was definitely watching our place and was probably inside my apartment going through our stuff slowly and deliberately with some eerie piano soundtrack for accompaniment. I wasn't even wearing my Doc Martens that day. No defense at all.

I started texting one of my roommates, asking if we could go to the post office and then buy some mace and maybe a rottweiler.

"Hang on," she replied, "I think I know who's doing this."

The text conversation stopped abruptly. Oh. NO. I thought. She has some crazy ex-boyfriend or possessed twin sister or something and WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE HORROR MOVIE DEATHS.

Another text came.

"Yeah, it was my four year old cousin," she replied. "I called them. I guess he sent clock faces to everyone he knows."


I just want to add that when I was four and drawing pictures my main emphasis was pictures of my family standing under rainbows which I would then put on the fridge. But some kids like to mail anonymous clock faces and that is okay too. 

Uncomfortably Accurate

Today I was walking to campus when I encountered a guy from my apartment complex. We had gone on a couple of dates early in the year, and of course we see each other around a lot, and so we stopped and talked for a few minutes.

It was sort of an awkward conversation--I was feeling kind of out of it--but this was amplified to the max when, trying to make light and hilarious banter, I said "Hey, you're getting married in thirteen days!"

This was a made up number that I threw out there because I knew he was getting married sometime soon. There was a pause in the conversation.

"Uh," he said, "Yeah. Yeah, that's the exact number of days."

So then things got weird real fast.



I WAS NOT NOR HAVE I EVER STALKED HIM, HIS FIANCEE, OR HIS WEDDING.