I'm Daphne Wolsencroft and you're listening to Night Watch, a show of

terrifyingly true stories. If you'd like your story told on the show, email it to watcher at nightwatchpod.com. Oh, oh, oh, oh, and then.

Oh,

Oh, Oh, Oh,

Oh, Oh,

Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, This happened about four years ago, months before the COVID pandemic would keep me locked inside my house for months on end, which was almost the last place I wanted to be after this

terrifying experience. It was a November night and the weather in eastern

Massachusetts was growing colder and colder by the day.

At the time I lived by myself in a fairly nice suburb that was only a 10 minute walk from the

coast's edge, which both me and my golden retriever loved.

By the way, I was 36 at this time and I'm a woman.

My dog and I lived alone and I hadn't dated anyone in months as my schedule was quite busy due to my job at commute to in Boston.

I hadn't been looking for love either as spending my nights in with my dog cooking lavish meals and

watching Netflix or curling up with a good book was more than enough to keep me happy and

I could afford to take care of myself,

living amongst families and older couples

in a cul-de-sac where the most exciting thing

to happen on a normal basis

was someone's kid having a birthday party or a neighbor redoing their

yard. All was quiet and calm and wonderful every single day. My kitchen window faced the street but typically I was

shielded by a large tree out in front of it that had recently been taken down

due to a termite infestation. But I didn't really mind. Because again, the street was nice and

...