I Was Out With Friends And Finally Found A Taxi On The Empty Streets

We struck up a conversation at first, but then the driver asked, “Do You Ever Feel Like Someone’s Watching You?”

I chuckled, assuming that was some clumsy attempt at dialogue. In the rearview, however, his eyes were steady—almost too steady.

He remarked, “I used to feel that way when I lived on your street.” My smile dimmed slightly. He didn’t grin back when I muttered something about having nerves at night.

He stopped when we arrived at my building and then unlocked the doors. Softly, as if speaking to himself, he whispered, “Be careful.” The air was heavy with the words.

I learnt the following morning that Mrs. Dalia, my neighbour across the hall, had been robbed in the middle of the night.

She was shaken but physically ok. Money, jewellery, and even her late husband’s watch were taken by whoever did it. No evidence of forced entry was found.

I felt sick to my stomach at that detail. Someone knows exactly how to enter without making a sound, or they had a key.

I continued mentally repeating what the driver had said. How could he have any knowledge? Was it his intention to warn me? Was that a strange coincidence, or what? Before I noticed a strange, faint, muddy footprint outside my door that afternoon, I was pretty sure it was nothing.

There was only one, pointing inward, as though someone had entered and then decided to change their mind.

I didn’t get much sleep that night. I sat up at every creak in the corridor. I heard slow, methodical footsteps outside my door at around two in the morning.

I stared at the little light beneath the door, holding my breath. Just in front of it, the shadow of feet came to a halt. After standing there for a full minute, whomever it was left.

I went to talk to Mrs. Dalia the following day. Whispering as if the walls might hear her, she gripped her tea. “It’s not arbitrary,” she stated.

“This person is familiar with the building. is familiar with us. She claimed to have noticed a man idly lingering in the stairway, feigning to be on his phone, shortly before her heist. She had trouble seeing his face.

At the corner store two days later, I noticed a tall man with a navy baseball cap pulled down over his face. There was something off about the way he kept looking at me and then turning his head away.

I had a strong feeling that was the same man Mrs. Dalia had spoken about. He hadn’t purchased anything, I discovered when I paid for my groceries. He was simply there.

I discussed it with my friend Idris. He’s the type of person who picks up on details that others miss. “You think this guy is watching you?” he asked with a grimace. Idris didn’t laugh, but I shrugged in embarrassment. “Text me the next time you see him. I’ll be present.

The odd noises outside my door, including slow footsteps and sporadic knocks on the wall, resumed the same week. My doorknob was being checked one night, and I heard its faint click.

My heart was pounding so fiercely that I was afraid I may pass out. When I reached for my phone, the sound ceased.

The security cameras in the building? They were unsuccessful. He would “get around to it,” the landlord insisted. Even at home, I began to lock the chain.

I received a message on my phone from an unidentified number that said, “You leave your curtains open too much.” That was the twist that made my skin crawl.

That was it. No emoji, no name, nothing. I was ill. My flat was on the third level, yet my curtains faced the street. The person who wrote that had either been inside or close enough to observe from outside.

I chose to take a chance. That evening, I kept my curtains open just enough to give the impression that I wasn’t looking.

I watched the street through a little opening in the blinds while sitting in the dark on my couch. I noticed someone standing in the shadows by the tree across the street at about eleven o’clock in the evening. They weren’t moving around much, smoking, or even conversing. simply gazing.

I sent Idris a text. Within fifteen minutes, he was there, silently climbing behind the tree. The man ran down the street after realising too late. Idris ran after him but returned with a shake of his head. “Quick. is familiar with the area.

At last, I made the decision to inform the police. Despite having nothing to go on, they listened courteously. They advised me to call if I saw him again and to be “more vigilant.” I didn’t feel any safer after that.

I saw him once more a week later, this time in the foyer of the building. He didn’t reside here, but he feigned to check the mailbox.

As I made my way to the lift, I could feel his gaze on me. I pressed the button with trembling hands. I had a flashback of the taxi driver’s expression at that point.

What if he had previously seen this man? What if he had warned me for that reason?

I returned to the same taxi stand where I had met the driver the following evening. I waited for an hour before I finally saw him. He recognised me right away.

“Are you still residing there?” he enquired. I explained everything to him, including the man in the baseball cap, the messages, and the processes.

He clenched his jaw. He remarked, “I believe I know who it is.” He clarified that a man named Sorin used to hang out at my building when he lived there years ago. He never received an invitation, even though he claimed to be visiting pals. People’s belongings would disappear.

That would feel like tampering with locks. After the landlord threatened to contact the police, Sorin vanished, although he might have returned.

I told Mrs. Dalia about Sorin that evening. Her eyes widened. “That’s him,” she said in a whisper. “I saw the man there.”

I chose to catch him in the act with Idris. We took a small motion-sensor camera from a buddy and placed it at an angle towards the hallway, close to my front door. While I waited for the alarm, I hardly slept.

On the third night, around 3:12 a.m., I heard a slight ringing sound from my phone. My blood froze when I opened the camera stream.

Sorin was crouching at my door, attempting to open a set of keys. He appeared composed, methodical, and experienced. I simultaneously texted the police and Idris.

The minutes seemed to drag on forever. After standing and looking through the peephole, Sorin reached inside his pocket. I feared I might break my ribs from the force of my heart’s pounding.

But as he leaned forward, Idris and two officers came thundering up the stairs in thunderous footsteps. After freezing, Sorin ran down the hallway. This time, the officers caught him after pursuing him.

It turned out that in addition to a backpack containing tools, gloves, and modest items like watches, wallets, and even a set of silver spoons that belonged to Mrs. Dalia, he also had an entire ring of stolen keys. For months, he had been breaking into apartments all around the neighbourhood.

Later, the police informed me that Sorin’s familiarity with the locks was due to his previous employment as a part-time handyman in the building. His former neighbour, the cab driver, had a suspicion that he may go back to his hunting areas. He had warned me to exercise caution because of this.

When Mrs. Dalia received her husband’s watch back, she broke down in tears. I also cried, but more because I was relieved that everything was at last over. I owed him free dinners for the rest of my life, Idris joked. I promised him that if it meant never seeing Sorin again, I would prepare him lasagna every week.

I learnt a valuable lesson: even when you feel foolish, follow your gut. If something doesn’t feel right, it most likely does. And occasionally, the tiniest cautions can prevent something far more serious. That cab ride will always be in my memory, and I will never again brush off a stranger’s silent worry.

If you’ve ever had a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, take note of it. It could save your life.

Share this tale with someone who needs a reminder if it got you thinking, and remember to like it so that others can see it as well.