Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 6 True Scary Valentine's Day Stories

Episode Date: February 9, 2024

These are 6 True Scary Valentine's Day Stories Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:06:11 Story 2 00:12:33 Story 3 00:24:21 Story 4 00:28:07 Story 5 00:38:35 Story 6 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #valentinesday 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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It was a while back when my husband, James, decided to surprise me with a Valentine's Day getaway to a secluded treehouse resort in the Upper Ozark Mountains. On paper, it sounded extremely romantic. Just the two of us, no distractions. I had a feeling he was planning something more intimate, considering it was Valentine's Day, so I wore something revealing and teased him the whole drive up there. Unfortunately, the reality fell far short of our expectations. The treehouse looked nothing like the pictures online.

Instead of the sprawling, multi-tiered bungalow that span the tops of cedars, we basically got a rickety house on stilts. James was furious, and I was upset too. but we had already paid the deposit, and there was no easy way to cancel. It felt like a lot of money down the drain. As we entered the small room, I noticed that it was beginning to storm outside. Should we worry about this place falling down or something? I asked, trying not to be pessimistic,

but it was hard not to imagine the whole building collapsing with a gentle breeze. Every time we walked, the entire treehouse shook. James suggested that we should probably stay close to the door just in case. Despite the disappointing start, I still wanted to make the best of our time together. Let's get into the hot tub, I suggested. James didn't object, and he started the water, although it seemed to take forever to get hot, and it only stayed hot for a few minutes. Disappointment continued to mount, and James suggested we get a bottle of wine instead.

He went out to the car in the port, pouring rain and returned drenched with a bottle of chardonnay and a corkscrew bottle opener. You look sexy drenched, I teased him. He got two wine glasses from the kitchen cabinet, pouring us some and offering a toast to making better memories. But as we started to drink, I had a strange vibe, a premonition, if you will. It crossed my mind that it would be crazy if James somehow bit into the glass and the wine shards dispersed into his mouth, cutting him. A few seconds later, that horrifying scenario played out. He was taking another sip when the glass abruptly shattered in his mouth, and he started to choke.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as panic engulfed me. I tried to help by hitting his back, hoping he would choke up the blood. I asked if he wanted me to call 911, but he shook his head, struggling silently. He gestured for me to help him into the bathroom, where he used his toothbrush to induce the gag. I stood there, holding him up as shards of glass fell into the toilet. After that ordeal, we cuddled up in bed, not saying much to each other. I couldn't shake the feeling that the treehouse was haunted or something. Finally, James suggested we order some food from a local place since the storm had intensified, making the whole treehouse shake even more. By this point,

James' voice was hoarse from the choking incident, but he managed to call around to local places to see who would deliver. We settled on pizza, and it was a welcome choice since I was starving by then. When the delivery driver arrived, I answered the door without bothering to get dressed, thinking it wasn't important.

The driver was a young guy in his mid-20s and seemed taken aback by my appearance, even though I wasn't wearing anything that revealing. How much? I asked, trying to get the transaction over with. He stammered off the total price and gave us the pizza. James realized his wallet was in the car and rushed outside to get it.

I watched them both out of the corner of my eye and saw something strange happen. It looked like the driver had hit James on the back of the head with something, and I later found out it was a tire iron. My husband fell unconscious in a matter of seconds. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. The driver, this young kid, marched back up to me, and I stood there transfixed, paralyzed, holding the pizza box. He had a knife in his hand, and I was terrified it could easily slit my throat.

He demanded that I get on the bed and tie myself up. I complied, climbing onto the mattress, doing my best not to cry. I begged him to take my wallet and leave, promising not to call the cops. As I finished tying my hands, I made sure my feet were loose enough to fight back if needed. He took my wallet back to his car and returned with a smartphone, filming me. I didn't know if it was for his own twisted pleasure, but I was too terrified to speak unless prompted. He even spat on me a few times. Finally, he decided he'd had enough, and left before my husband came to. I remained tied up on the bed for what felt like an eternity, roughly 30 minutes,

before James stumbled into the room, frantic and confused. We called the cops immediately, but they didn't send anyone that night, leaving us without sleep and fear that the attacker might return. We attended to James's wounds, and I couldn't help but think we were stranded in the mountains with no money. James's mother wired us some money through PayPal, and we made our way back home, canceling credit cards along the way. James insisted that we both take self-defense courses, a decision I couldn't argue with.

A few months later, after much hassle with the company, we managed to get most of our money back. They admitted that suspicious activities on their property were not uncommon. It's crazy how we can laugh about it now, all these years later, but if things had gone differently, I'm not sure I'd even be here today. On that fateful Valentine's Day, my wife, Sarah and I embarked on an unforgettable journey, albeit for all the wrong reasons. This tale haunts me to this day, not only because it marked the beginning of the end for our relationship, but also due to the spine-chilling encounter with a waiter named Brian, whose intentions appeared malevolent from the start. Our day commenced with an argument, the roots of which demanded some explanation. You see, Sarah was a social media

influencer working for a makeup company. Her job entailed trying on products and promoting them through YouTube. Typically this didn't bother me much, but I had yearned for a special and romantic Valentine's Day free from work-related distractions, a day to exchange gifts, savor each other's company, and enjoy a delightful dinner. The problem was, Sarah had a deep-seated addiction to social media, and it had been a source of tension for weeks. We had even attempted a 10-day electronic detox trial before Valentine's, which had ended in a heat. heated argument. The turmoil that morning was sparked by her client's request for a lengthy makeup video that would take 45 minutes to an hour to film and edit for her channel. I initially

tried to brush it off, but as the frustration mounted, I couldn't hold back any longer. You're just acting so selfish, Justin, she retorted when I expressed my displeasure about her phone. Our relationship had always been plagued by financial troubles, and this argument hit a raw nerve. It spiraled into a 10-minute shouting match, a familiar pattern for any couple who'd been together for a significant amount of time. Eventually, we decided to salvage our plans for the day and head out for dinner. But before reconciling, I made a foolish move by canceling our reservation at a new restaurant Sarah had been eager to visit for months. My pettiness had taken control, leading to an impulsive decision that would prove to be disastrous.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, we were informed that our table had been given away to someone else. It was Valentine's Day in a small town, and everything was bustling with couples celebrating love. Sarah was annoyed, and she retreated to her phone, engaging with her followers while I tried to find an alternative dining spot. Our romantic night was unraveling rapidly. We eventually settled on Olive Garden, despite it not being her favorite choice. We arrived just in for the wine to be served, and there were surprisingly fewer patrons than expected. We managed to secure a private booth in the back, but the frosty atmosphere between us had me anxious. Sarah's demeanor had turned icy, and she was pointedly ignoring me as we perused the menu.

That's when our waiter, Brian, made his entrance. He was a few years older than me, with a darker complexion and a taller frame. I was so preoccupied with our ongoing spat that I was so preoccupied with our ongoing spat that I barely registered the details. His name might have been Brian, but I couldn't be sure. Brian offered us a sample of the house wine, which we both declined, opting for bread and soup instead. He couldn't help but notice the tension between us, and attempted to lighten the mood. For a couple on Valentine's, it sure doesn't seem like you love each other, he jokingly

remarked. I seized the opportunity to address our issues openly, despite, the risk of escalating the argument. This wouldn't have happened if you had agreed to keep your phone off, I told Sarah. She responded sharply. It wouldn't have happened if you weren't such an inconsiderate jerk. You know my phone is my livelihood. The discussion veered towards our persistent financial problems, and I thoughtlessly retorted,

I wouldn't be in so much debt if you hadn't insisted on an elaborate wedding. And who spends the most money for the house? It sure isn't me. You're just a child, Justin. Brian returned with the wine, visibly affected by our argument. Before I could make a sarcastic remark, I noticed the intense anger in his eyes. It was as if he was trying to suppress a painful memory. Instead of sarcasm, he shared a haunting story of his own.

I was married to my high school sweetheart for ten years. He began. We grew up in a small Midwestern town, and never realized how, great our life was until it was taken away. He recounted an incident where he had been unjustly incarcerated for two years, leaving his life in ruins. The injustice and betrayal had pushed him to the brink. The weight of his words hung in the air as other patrons began to take notice. An uncomfortable silence settled over our booth, broken only by Sarah offering her sympathy. Strangely, this seemed to enrage Brian further. He slammed his fist on the table and

rambled about his failed marriage and the belief that love was a despicable illusion. The tension was palpable, and I decided to intervene, hoping to diffuse the situation. But Brian interpreted my gesture as an invitation to confrontation. He violently pinned my arm behind my back, brandishing a knife against my head. Sarah's tears seemed to snap him out of his rage, and he dropped the knife, stammering an apology before abruptly leaving. One would think that this marked the end of our harrowing encounter, but it wasn't over. As we walked to our car, Brian was waiting, armed with another knife. He slashed our tires and was on the verge of attacking us, when Sarah's cry for help startled him,

and he fled. We reported the incident to the police, but the anonymous psycho waiter vanished without a trace. Our eventful evening, complete with Brian's unsettling speech and terrifying actions, pushed Sarah and me further apart. That night I found solace at a friend's house, drowning my sorrows in alcohol. Thanks to that nameless, deranged waiter, our relationship crumbled,

and the road to divorce seemed inevitable. The scars from that Valentine's Day would haunt us forever. It's funny how Valentine's Day can twist a knife in your heart when you're single. Every year, it's the same old story for me. Couples holding hands, romantic posts all over social media, and there I am, scrolling through my phone, feeling like the last slice of pizza nobody wants. But this year, I decided to do something different, something out of my comfort zone.

I heard about this Valentine's Day gathering for singles in my area. It sounded cheesy, but what did I have to lose? I'm just a guy who's been riding solo for what feels like forever. Maybe, just maybe, this event could change that. So, there I was, standing in front of my mirror. second-guessing my outfit, my hair, heck, even my choice of Cologne. But I shook off the nerves, put on my best, I'm totally cool being here smile, and headed out. The event was at this local community center, decked out with red and pink balloons,

cheesy love songs playing in the background, the whole nine yards. Walking in, I felt like a fish out of water. There were people everywhere, laughing, chatting, some even flirting outrageously. I grabbed a soda from the bar and leaned against a wall, trying to look casual while scanning the room. I tried to talk to a few people. There was this one woman who wouldn't stop talking about her ex, and another who seemed more interested in her phone than in me. No sparks, no connection, just awkward small talk and forced smiles.

It was starting to feel like a bust, and I was getting ready to bail when I saw her. She was standing alone in a corner, sipping on a little. a drink, looking as out of places I felt. She had this long, dark hair, and a smile that seemed to light up the room. Something about her just pulled me in. Taking a deep breath, I pushed off the wall and walked over to her. Hi, I'm not really good at this, but I felt like I had to come over and say hello, I said, trying my best to sound confident. She looked up, surprised, then smiled. Hi, I'm glad you did. I'm not really good at this either. We started talking, and it was like everything else in the room faded away. She was funny, smart, and she had this laugh that was absolutely infectious.

We talked about everything, movies, books, our worst Valentine's Day experiences. It was easy, like talking to an old friend, before I knew. It, hours had passed. The room was starting to empty, the balloon sagging like the tired eyelids of the few remaining guests. As the event wrapped up, I couldn't believe I was about to do this, but I asked for her number. To my surprise, she wrote it down and handed it to me with a smile that could have lit up the darkest night. We agreed to meet up again, and I left the community center feeling like I was walking on air. It was the first time in a long while that Valentine's Day didn't feel like a personal jab at my single status. Walking back to my car, I couldn't help but replay every moment of our conversation in my head.

She was incredible. For once, I was actually excited about what the future might hold. Maybe this was it, the end of my solo journey and the start of something new. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a journey far more bizarre and terrifying than I could ever imagine. As I drove home, I had a smile plastered on my face, a stark contrast to the usual frown I wore on Valentine's Day. I couldn't wait to see her again. Maybe, just maybe, this was the turn of luck I'd been waiting for. But as I would soon find out, some things are too good to be true. The next few days felt like I was living in a dream. I kept looking at her number on my phone, half expecting it to disappear, but it stayed. We texted back and forth, and before I knew it,

we had plans for a second date. I suggested dinner at this cozy Italian place I knew, and to my delight she loved the idea. I was a bundle of nerves and excitement the whole day leading up to our date. I must have changed my outfit at least three times. Finally, I settled on something that screamed casual but trying, and headed out. She was already there when I arrived, looking even more beautiful than I remembered. Her smile was like a beacon in the dimly lit restaurant. We sat down and the conversation just flowed naturally. We talked about our families, our jobs, and our shared love for old school rock music. She had this way of listening that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. I found myself sharing things I hadn't told

anyone before. It was strange, but in a good way. Dinner was amazing, but it was the company that made the night unforgettable. We lost track of time, last. laughing and chatting until the restaurant began to close. Reluctantly, we left, but neither of us wanted the night to end. She suggested going back to her place for a nightcap, and I eagerly agreed. Her apartment was just as charming as she was. We sat on her couch, sipping wine and continuing our conversation, but as the night progressed, something changed.

It was subtle at first. Her laughter seemed a bit off, her story's a bit more erratic. I brushed it off as nerves or maybe too much wine. But then, things got weird. We started to get closer, and that's when I noticed the shift. Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now seemed cold, almost predatory. Her voice changed too, deeper, almost guttural at times. I tried to laugh it off, but a sinking feeling in my stomach told me something was very wrong.

I made an excuse to go to the bathroom, trying to collect my thoughts. What was happening? Was this some kind of joke? When I came back, she was different, more intense. She kept saying things that made no sense, and her movements were jerky, unnatural. Panic started to set in. I knew I had to get out of there,

but when I tried to leave, the door wouldn't open. It felt like some unseen force was holding it shut. I turned back to her, and that's when I saw it. Her face seemed to contort, her experience. no longer human. It was like she was being controlled by something else, something dark and terrifying. I remember her voice. It wasn't hers anymore. It was deeper, sinister, saying things that sent chills down my spine. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I had to get out, but how? The windows. They were my only chance. I rushed to the nearest

window, struggling to open it. She was behind me now. Her voice a cacophony of strange sounds. With a surge of adrenaline, I managed to break the window open. Glass shattered everywhere, the cold night air rushing in. I didn't even care about the cuts from the glass. I just needed to escape. Climbing out, I hit the ground hard, but I didn't stop. I ran as fast as I could, not daring to look back.

Behind me, her screams filled the night. A sound so haunting it would stay with me forever. My breath was ragged, my mind racing. What had just happened? Who, or what was she? Finally, when I was far enough away, I risked a glance back. There she was, standing in the broken window watching me. But her eyes, they weren't human. They were like black voids, devoid of all emotion. It was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. I kept running, not stopping until I reached my car. I drove home, trying to process the nightmare I'd just lived through. What started as a perfect evening had turned into a horror show. I knew I was lucky to have escaped, but a part of me wondered about her. Was she still there, in that apartment, possessed by whatever that thing was? That night, I barely slept, the image of her twisted face haunting my dreams.

I knew one thing for sure. My life would never be the same again. As the sun rose, casting light on a new day, I was left with a million questions. and a deep sense of dread about what might come next. After that night, everything changed. I thought I could just forget about her, about what happened, but it wasn't that simple. Weird things started happening around me,

things I couldn't explain. It was like a bad horror movie, only it was my life. I'd find things moved in my apartment, things I was sure I hadn't touched. The TV would turn on by itself in the middle of, the night, blaring static at full volume. I'd wake up to the feeling of someone watching me, but no one would be there. It was enough to make anyone lose their mind. I tried to tell myself it was all in my head, just stress or lack of sleep. But deep down, I knew it was her. She was haunting

me, or at least whatever had taken over her was. One night it got worse. I was lying in bed trying to convince myself to sleep when I heard it, a tapping at my window. At first, I thought it was just a tree branch or something, but it kept getting louder, more insistent. I got up, my heart pounding in my chest, and pulled back the curtain. There she was, standing in my front lawn staring up at me. Her eyes were pitch black, just like that night. And she was smiling, this twisted, unnatural smile. I dropped the curtain and stumbled back, my mind racing. How did she find me? What did she want? I didn't sleep at all that night. Every noise made me jump, and I kept seeing her face every time I closed my eyes. The next day,

I was a wreck. I knew I needed help, but who would believe me? It sounded crazy, even to me. But I couldn't go on like that. I did some research and found a spiritual medium in town. I was skeptical, but desperate. I made an appointment and went to see her. The medium listened to my story with a calmness that made me feel slightly less insane. She told me that it wasn't uncommon for spirits to latch on to someone, especially if they were vulnerable.

She said the spirit that possessed my date was particularly malevolent, drawn to my loneliness. She performed a cleansing ritual on me. It felt strange, sitting there while she chanted and burned sage, but I was willing to try anything. When it was over, she told me that I should be free from the spirit's influence. I left feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The strange occurrences stopped, and I slowly started to feel like myself again, but the experience left its mark on me. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the fear that it

might happen again. I learned something important from all this. Our loneliness can make us vulnerable, not just to the wrong people, but to things beyond our understanding. I still don't know what really happened with that woman, or what that spirit was. But I do know that I'll never be the same again. Sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones we can't see. From sauce to dust to nuggets, it's Taco Bell's new Diablo-dusted, crispy chicken nuggets. Are they mild? If they were mild that had to change the name to little rascal nuggets or minor new sauce,

Nuggets. Definitely Diablo. New Diablo-Dusted crispy chicken nuggets, a brand new classic. Only at Taco Bell. At participating U.S. Taco Bell locations for a limited time and while supplies last. It's the Paradise Podcast. I am your host, Ryan Michelle Bathay, with my husband Sterling. What's up? Join us here on Hulu and Hulu on Disney Plus, where we'll discuss each episode with the cast and crew of Paradise.

I'll be getting all the secrets from Dan Fulglement, James. Marsden, Shailene Woodley, Julian Nicholson, and Sterling Calbee Brown. Paradise, the official podcast, is now streaming. And stream Paradise on Kulu and Kulu on Disney Plus. I remember it like it was yesterday. The sting of Valentine's Day still raw in my heart. It was supposed to be a day of love and affection, but for me, it became a nightmare. Just a year ago, I wouldn't have imagined that Caleb, my boyfriend, would choose this day

to break my heart. Despite the rough patches we had been navigating, I believed we were on solid ground. The week before, he had made elaborate plans for us, a reservation at Red Lobster, taking time off work, promising an unforgettable evening. But that morning, everything crumbled with a single text message. Caleb decided to end our relationship. I was in disbelief. How could this happen? I immediately called him. demanding an explanation. His voice was apologetic, yet distant, as he offered up excuses that sounded like hollow justifications. I begged him to tell me he hadn't cheated. My voice choked with tears. His denial did little to ease the whirlwind of emotions engulfing me. I remember feeling utterly lost,

the pain so acute that self-harm flickered through my mind. But in that dark moment, I had an epiphany. No one is worth that kind of despair. As I was grappling with this emotional turmoil, my friend Felicia texted. Her presence was a lifeline, and I invited her over immediately. When she arrived, I collapsed into her arms, pouring out my heartbreak. Felicia, ever the protective friend, suggested we drown our sorrows in alcohol. It seemed like a perfect distraction. We got dressed up, I blocked Caleb on my phone, and we headed out,

feeling empowered and ready to forget our troubles. We hailed a taxi to take us downtown. Felicia was vocal about her disdain for Caleb and men in general. The taxi driver seemed tense at her words, but I was too wrapped up in my own emotions to pay much attention. Then as we were exiting the highway, the driver suddenly accelerated, zooming through a red light. We were both startled, and Felicia demanded he slow down.

Instead, he turned around with a feral look in his eyes and pointed a gun at us. He ordered us to hand over our phones, then drove us out of town, discarding our belongings into a river. The fear was paralyzing. Eventually, he stopped at a secluded cabin and ordered us to stay there. Seizing a moment of distraction, I whispered to Felicia that we needed to fight back. When he opened the cab door, I kicked him and yelled for Felicia's help. In the ensuing struggle, Felicia managed to grab the gun and pointed it at the driver, demanding the keys. With the keys in hand, we made a break for the taxi.

The driver lunged at us, but I managed to fend him off and jumped into the driver's seat. We drove away as fast as we could, leaving the man behind. In the aftermath, we discovered the driver was wanted for murder in another state. The experience was surreal and terrifying, a stark reminder of how quickly life can turn on its head. I went through therapy to cope with the trauma, but the memory of that day still haunts me. Caleb's reaction when I later told him about the ordeal was dismissive, adding to my pain. I still wonder what triggered the driver's actions. Was it our conversation about men, or was it his plan all along?

That Valentine's Day remains the strangest, scariest, and most terrifying I've ever experienced. It was just another day, the kind that blends into a life filled with routine and the mundane. I walked the familiar path home from a day that, that had been particularly draining at work, my mind a swirl of unsorted thoughts and frustrations. The city around me buzzed with its usual energy, but I felt disconnected, like a shadow moving among the living. As I trudged along, lost in my own world, a woman stepped into my path. She was not the sort of person who usually caught my attention. There was something about her, maybe it was her eyes, or the way she carried herself, that seemed out of place,

like a character from a story who had accidentally wandered into real life. She held out a red envelope to me, a Valentine's Day card. For you, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the noise of the street like a sharp blade. I remember being surprised. Who gives a stranger a Valentine's card? I took the card more out of reflex than desire. It was crumpled, as though it had been carried around for a while.

The woman gave me a long, piercing look, one that I couldn't quite understand. Then she turned and melted into the crowd. It happened so fast. One moment she was there, and the next, she was gone. I stared at the card in my hand. It was just a simple red envelope, nothing special. But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I slipped it into my coat pocket and continued home.

My apartment was my same. sanctuary, a small but cozy place where I could escape from the world. That evening, as I set the card on my kitchen counter, I felt an odd sensation, like a whisper at the back of my neck. I shook it off and started making dinner, trying to forget about the strange encounter. But the card sat there on the counter, almost like it was watching me. I know it sounds crazy, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn't fear exactly, more like anticipation. as if the air itself was holding its breath. I finally gave in to my curiosity and opened the card.

Inside, on a mostly blank white background, were the words, Will you be mine? The ink was black, but it had smeared, giving the words a desperate, almost sad appearance. There was no name, no signature, nothing to indicate who had sent it or why. I tried to laugh it off. It was just a card,

probably a joke or some kind of marketing gimmick. But deep down, I couldn't shake the unease that crawled under my skin. I kept glancing over my shoulder as I cooked, half expecting to see someone standing there. But my apartment was as quiet and empty as always. Night fell, and with it came a sense of isolation. I closed my curtains, cutting off my small slice of the city outside. The card lay forgotten on the counter as I ate.

alone, the silence of my apartment a stark contrast to the noise of my thoughts. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head, that there was nothing to worry about. But as I lay in bed that night, the words from the card echoed in my mind, a haunting refrain in the darkness. Will you be mine? I didn't know it then, but those four words were the beginning of a nightmare that would change my life forever. I woke up the next day, hoping the weirdness from last night would just be a forgotten dream, but the red envelope on my kitchen counter glared at me, a stark reminder of reality. I brushed off the unsettling feeling and got ready for work, trying to shove the card and its cryptic message to the back of my mind. The day was uneventful,

but the thought of going back to my apartment made my stomach churn. As I walked home, the streets seemed more crowded, more suffocating than usual. The memory of the mysterious woman's gaze haunted me, and every stranger's face seemed to hide a secret smirk. When I finally got home, a sense of dread settled over me. Something felt wrong. As I put my key into the lock, I noticed something odd on my door. My heart raced as I saw it. The same message from the card, Will you be mine? Smeared across my door in what looked like dark paint. My hands trembled as I opened the door, half expecting someone to jump out at me. But my apartment was empty, just as I had left it. The silence was suffocating. I tried to convince

myself that it was a prank, some sick joke by a bored teenager. But deep down, I knew it was something more. I couldn't eat, couldn't sit still. The card's message echoed in my head, a relentless drumbeat of fear. In a moment of panic, I grabbed the card and a lighter. I watched the flames consume it, the paper curling into blackness. But then, the smoke. It was red, thick and swirling, filling my kitchen with an eerie, unnatural light. I stumbled back, coughing, my head spinning.

The last thing I remember was the floor rushing up to meet me. I woke up on my kitchen table, the cold surface against my skin. Confusion flooded my mind as I realized I was naked, my clothes nowhere in sight. Panic surged through me, my heart pounding in my ears. And then I saw it. My blood ran cold as I looked down at my body. Carved into my torso was the word mine. The pain hit me then, a searing white-hot agony. I wanted to scream, to cry, but the shock held me in its icy grip.

Somehow I managed to get off the table and stumbled to the phone. Each movement was torture, but fear drove me. I called the police. My voice barely away. whisper, every word a stab of pain. The police came, their questions a blur in my mind. I remember the ambulance, the bright lights of the hospital, the doctor's concerned faces. They treated my wounds, their words of comfort distant and unreal. The police found nothing in my apartment, no clue as to who did this to me. They asked about enemies, about anyone who might want to hurt me, but I had no answers. All I had was the memory of a car. a mysterious woman, and the word mine carved into me. I lay in the hospital bed, my mind a whirlpool

of fear and confusion. The world I knew had shattered, leaving me adrift in a nightmare. I knew one thing for sure, my life would never be the same again. Lying in the hospital bed, wrapped in a cocoon of sterile sheets and the constant beep of monitors, I felt detached from reality. The stark white walls seemed to close in on me, whispering secrets I couldn't understand. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the word mine etched in my skin, a brutal claim that sent shivers down my spine. The police came again, their faces grim and serious. They told me they'd found the card, the one I'd burned in my sink. I couldn't believe it. How could it have survived the flames? They said it was intact, unscathed by fire. And then they told me something that,

chilled me to the bone. The message inside the card had changed. I'm glad you're mine. It read now. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. How was that possible? I lay there in disbelief, the pain from my injuries, a dull, constant reminder of my ordeal. The world I knew had been turned upside down, and I was left grappling with the impossible. The police had no leads, no suspects. I was alone in this, a victim of an unseen, unknown stalker. Days passed in the hospital, each one a blur of painkillers and hushed conversations. Nurses came and went, their faces a blend of pity and professional detachment. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but my voice was a mere whisper, drained of strength. The thought of returning to my apartment filled me with.

dread. Every memory of that place was tainted, the walls echoing with the terror of that night. I knew I couldn't go back there, not after what had happened. The thought of starting over was daunting, but the fear of staying was far greater. When the time came to leave the hospital, I made a decision. I would leave everything behind, my apartment, my belongings, my old life. I would start anew, far from the memories that haunted me. The landlord could have it all. I wanted nothing that reminded me of that Valentine's Day. The world outside the hospital seemed different,

as if I was seeing it through a veil of mistrust and fear. People passed me by, unaware of the nightmare I'd lived through. I felt like a ghost, unseen and unheard, wandering through a life that no longer felt like mine. I found a small place on the outskirts of the city, a modest apartment that offered anonymity and a chance to heal. The scars on my body were a constant reminder of my ordeal, but I was determined to move forward, to reclaim my life from the shadows that sought to engulf it. As Valentine's Day approached, I found a strange comfort in my solitude. For the first time,

I was grateful to be alone, away from the twisted romance that had almost destroyed me. I had survived, but at what cost? The question haunted me, a lingering doubt in the back of my mind. I looked at the calendar, the date circled in red, Valentine's Day, a day that once meant little to me, now a symbol of my survival. I was alone, yes, but I was alive. And in that moment, that was enough. Features in Blumhouse present, obsession.

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in the name of the person who gave me the deal. Additional terms, conditions, and restrictions apply. My 2020 Valentine's Day was unlike any other. It started with a sense of anticipation, but ended in a series of strange and terrifying events that I'll never forget. You see, my family had to move in early February, so we decided to postpone our Valentine's celebration until close to March.

Little did I know, this decision would lead to an unforgettable experience. As March approached, the pandemic hit, and it began to affect our lives. I was one of the first in our family to be exposed to the virus. It was a surreal feeling, knowing that something invisible could change your life so drastically. But my boyfriend, Robbie, was determined not to let it ruin our Valentine's Day plan. He suggested that we celebrate over Zoom, and I agreed. The days leading up to our virtual Valentine's Day were surreal. I felt like one of those kids stuck in a bubble,

watching the world outside while I couldn't partake in it. I had no symptoms, but I was being locked away from the outside world, as if I were some kind of criminal. Saturday finally arrived, and I logged into Zoom, eager for the romantic surprise Robbie had in store for me. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew it couldn't be anything like what he had originally planned. Robbie had set up his camera at an angle that allowed me to see his entire room. Two windows were partially open, letting in a gentle breeze.

He wore a silly blue suede shirt and a matching tie. Candles flickered, and soft jazzy music played in the background, setting the mood. It was cheesy in the most endearing way, and I couldn't help but giggle. He teased me playfully, and I responded with a flirtatious comment. Then he waved a bouquet of flowers in front of the camera, saying, Roses your favorite, don't they smell good? But that joke was in poor taste because, thanks to COVID, my sense of smell had been completely gone for a while.

Chocolates for you, he said, waving a box of creamy chocolates near the screen. I was touched by his effort to make this day special, despite the circumstances. Suddenly, a strange noise echoed outside Robbie's window, a scream that sent shivers down my spine. He asked me to hold on, and my heart raced as I waited, wondering what was happening. Robbie abruptly left the camera's view, and I could hear him rushing down a flight of stairs. Shouting and commotion erupted outside his window, and it was clear that he was having an argument with someone. I kept calling his name, desperately hoping he would return. It felt like an eternity, but nearly half an hour later, Robbie finally reappeared on camera.

My relief was palpable, but it quickly turned to concern when I saw him. His face was marked by a bloody nose and a black eye. I asked him what had happened, and he replied, Someone just stole my car. I'm really sorry, but I got to go. I was left in shock, unable to process the events that had unfolded before my eyes. I didn't hear from him until the next day when the police in front. informed us that they had found his car parked not far from my house. According to them,

the thief had activated the GPS and gone to the last location Robbie had put it. It sent chills down my spine, thinking that perhaps they had intended to rob me next. The police also discovered traces of gunpowder residue in the car, suggesting that the thief had recently discharged a weapon. Robbie confirmed that they had shot at him when he tried to stop them. My heart sank at the thought of how close he had come to danger. A month later, Robbie admitted to me that he believed he knew why they had stolen his car in the first place. He had bought me a promise ring, an expensive one, and he had left it in the passenger side seat. It was a shocking revelation, and it made me realize that our Valentine's Day had been both the most and least

romantic one I had ever experienced.