I’m currently a 54 year old single mother with two teenage kids. Over the decades I would say that I’ve acquired quite a few interesting stories from my youth. Unfortunately most of these such stories are not the friendliest. Many of them were shoved into my memory when someone I knew was stalking me.
I grew up in the city of London, Ontario, Canada from 1963 through to the early 90’s; however, if there was anything at all to say about London at the time; it would be that too many life threatening people lived there. From stalkers, to rapists, to serial killers; it was a dangerous place and it was wise to not get too friendly with anyone. Living a city like this all your life; you are bound to come across one or two of them. Unfortunate yes, but it was always like this.
I was about sixteen or seventeen, meaning the year was about 1979 or 1980. At this time it was summer and I started working at a truck stop and diner just a little ways away from London. It was half a mile away from my parents convenience store and my house. It was a lovely little establishment, as there were home cooked meals served everyday; and my boss was a wonderful lady who worked her ass off, although her husband was an absolute abusive knob head. There was about six of seven of us working there at the time, ten at most. I enjoyed working there for the first little bit as my boss and co workers were very kind to me, and overall it was an amazing job. The people who came in to eat seemed to enjoy the service; and my parents came on the Friday night when I was working for something to eat.
I only worked at this place for about a week or two, I actually quit due to a boy the same age as me that I will call Elliot for this story.
Elliot was a relatively attractive guy, tall, blonde hair blue eyes; basically Disney Prince material if he wasn’t such a huge nut case; but I didn’t know that at the time. He worked in the truck and bar area of the building, and out of the whole time I worked there, I only talked to him once. Although I suppose that was all the time he needed to figure out that I was his brand new obsession; which opened a can of worms that were endlessly dumped on my head for the next three years.
You see, during our conversation it was as if he went into a trance like state; he started going off about war and morbid topics in that area and if I’m being completely honest; that was more than enough to convince me to stay away from that guy. Not because he was talking about war; but because of how quickly he went off topic to our original conversation and how strange he acted whist in the trance like state. Alas; I wish I could say that’s where the story ended.
Like most jobs, phone numbers of each one of the staff members were posted on the wall inside the staff room, encase anyone ever needed a shift covered. I guess before I quit, Elliot wrote down my phone number because, just before I quit; I started to get strange phone calls from who I assumed at the time was him; back in the eighties you couldn’t track phone calls since they were landline phones; so I was pretty much screwed and couldn’t talk to the cops since I didn’t have evidence.
The things he would say on the phone to me are what I can only describe as disgusting and honestly made my skin crawl, it didn’t help that I would get a phone call every time I had seen him earlier on in the day. Even if I may not remember every call word for word, I can certainly remember the way the phone calls would start out. Nearly every one would start out with a mans heavy breathing. Now imagine being home alone, just relaxing after coming back from a day of shopping and picking up a ringing phone, only to hear heavy breathing. As a teenage girl, it is fair to say that it scared me shitless.
One of the first instances where it got really creepy, was when I was out at a bingo with my folks and a friend of mine.
At this time I was still working at the diner. My sisters daughter, who I grew up with, was working in my parents shop that night and I had told her if anyone called and asked for me; just tell them that I was out, and would be back later to get back to them.
The bingo when as normal as bingo in a city full of criminals, alcoholics, and farmers could go. My dad yelling about how stupid bingo was, my mom didn’t really give a fuck and just wanted to enjoy the game; and my friend and I were holding back the urge to yell at my dad for yelling at bingo. Believe it or not; it was actually quite fun.
As fun as the bingo was, on the drive home it was unavoidable that we’d have to drive past the area where Elliot lived. I just continued watching our surroundings when out of nowhere, Elliot appeared on his bike and acted as if he was going to head on collide with us. All of us knew he was fucked up, but I didn’t expect him to act suicidal like that. When I had got home, my niece explained that Elliot had called several times on end, wanting to talk to me; I suppose it was scarier that when he was on his bike; he was coming home from the direction of my house.
Long after I quit working at the diner, I was working with one of my friends at a kiosk restaurant in a Walmart that day; when my co worker spotted a man hiding in the racks of the ladies wear department, which was right across from us.
“That guy has been staring over here for quite some time now.” She told me, seeming skeptical yet a little scared. I had no clue what she was talking about until I turned to see Elliot hiding himself in the clothing racks of the ladies wear department, to say the least it was scary as hell and I felt like straight up puking, what was worse was that; since there was no buses going out to the area of London that I lived in, I had to thumb a ride home.
I ended up getting off early after explaining to my manager what was going on.
It wasn’t a surprise to me when I got yet another one of his calls; but I got a little angry when he started to talk. It was as if he hadn’t had a drink of water in days; his voice was so raspy you could hardly understand him; but nonetheless, I was pissed.
“You Slut” He growled darkly into the phone and began to call me other vulgar names. I really didn’t care for the guy but it seemed that I wasn’t going to lose him anytime soon. It was a week after when I lost my shit on him though.
Earlier that day, when I was working in my parents store; he came in. I recall him buying a drink for himself, like a pop or coffee.That evening, like every ‘normal’ phone call I got from him, it started off with heavy breathing before I budded in.
“Listen buddy, I know who you are, and I know where you live. Stop calling before I get the cops at your door, then, maybe we can see how you like being harassed” I shot to him. I really don’t think you could blame me for getting pissed off. At that point, it was already released to the public that this guy was a fucking werido. Near the end of his days, which I might add; were spent still stalking me, he was caught behind a local pub in downtown London with grenades with the intention of setting them off.
I felt like our conversation subject change the only time we ever thoroughly spoke to each other, connected to this event. Later on, the last day of his life and the last day of my fear of him; proved it to me loud and clear.
He had been shooting at a bunch of low rent townhouses in the area, most likely aiming to kill someone.
According to records, he nearly killed a baby in its crib that day. A police standoff would have happened, but the law knew better than to all of a sudden stand off to a insane young adult such as him. Though their wait was short lived when they heard a gunshot; he had shot himself in the chest. Speculations after he died were whether or not he suffered for the shot.
Despite the three years I was tormented by this kid, there is one thing about his death that makes me a little sad to think about. Almost no one went to his funeral.
After almost four decades, I haven’t thought of those three years all that much.
I moved way out west to British Columbia, and I haven’t been back to Ontario at all since 2003 when my dad passed. Of course it has had its ups and downs, but I now have two beautiful kids, I have gotten in touch with a few of my old Ontario buddies as well. I grew up with stressful situations, but I guess for me; looking back forty years later; it has really been somewhat of a learning experience for me.