This guy want to kill me

"I Should’ve Left Sooner"

Based on a True Story by Kaizaaki

It was around 11:45 PM. Business had been dead all evening. I was tired, drained, and just wanted to go home. My little shop sits at the edge of a quiet street—nobody really walks by after dark. I started shutting down, rolling the shutter halfway when my phone buzzed—low battery, 9%. I slipped it into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and switched off the lights.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Like someone was pacing outside.

I peeked out. Nothing. Just a flickering streetlight tossing weird shadows.

I ignored it, finished locking the shutter, and turned to leave.
tap... tap... tap...

But this time… from inside the shop.
Not outside. Inside.

I froze. That wasn’t possible. Everything was locked. No one else came in.

I hesitated, lifted the shutter a little, flipped the lights back on—
And there it was.

My chair. The one behind the counter.
Turned toward the door.
I never leave it that way. I always push it in. Always.

I walked in slowly. Heart pounding. When I touched the seat…
It was warm.

I ran.

Locked the shop tight and power-walked toward the main road.

Halfway there, my phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, trembling.

One new message from an unknown number:

“You left your lights on.”

 

I felt sick. That chair. That sound.
Now this.

I ignored the message and kept walking fast, just trying to reach the main road. I pulled out my phone and called 911, voice shaking like hell. I told them everything. The shop. The sounds. The message.

They told me to wait 10 minutes. Someone was nearby.

I stood on a street corner, barely lit, trying to keep it together.
That’s when I heard someone walking toward me.

I thought he’d just pass by. But no—
He was staring right at me.
Not blinking. Not looking around. Just walking. Straight. To. Me.

Something felt wrong.
I turned and RAN.

Few blocks ahead, I saw a guy eating near a trash bin—looked like a beggar, chillin' with some food. I ran straight to him.

“Please,” I said, outta breath. “Help me. Someone's following me.”

He didn’t even flinch.
Just took off his hoodie, handed it to me and said,
“Put this on. Hide in that trash can right there. Now.”

I didn’t even think—I jumped in and closed the lid just enough to peek through.

Seconds later, I heard footsteps. That same man’s voice followed.

“Hey, you see a guy run by here?”

The beggar looked up, real casual, and said,
“Yeah. He ran that way. Why? What’s up?”

The man paused.

“He’s my friend. Just looking for him.”

Beggar nodded, cool as ever.
“Alright.”

He sat back down. Like nothing happened.

I stayed hidden in that bin for 50 minutes. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I didn’t have the courage to come out.

Eventually, I crawled out, hoodie still on. The guy was gone. The beggar too. Just me, a dead street, and that same chill crawling down my spine.

To this day, I never went back to that shop.

I still have that message.

“You left your lights on.”

But I never turned them on.
Not after closing.