Okay, before we start, I need to give you a warning. This story is true, unfortunately. It is also very long. It goes back to my childhood, but it wasn’t as terrifying until just recently. Now I am completely lost in fear.

I am an adult man, a logical person, sitting in my bed, scared out of my mind right now. I have goosebumps all over my body and tears of horror in my eyes. I ask for your help in explaining this horrifying thing. What you read from now on is how I saw it all happen. I like to think I am very rational, but I haven’t been able to explain these events in any normal way.

The Unsettling Introduction to Rose

My mom got a new job, and she made new friends. In our country, it is common for friends to visit each other’s houses for coffee, cake, and talk. A few weeks into her new job, my mom became friends with a woman named Rose. Rose would visit maybe twice a week, and they would sit on our balcony, chatting.

One day, when I was 17, I was on the balcony with them. I was probably bored, having run out of internet hours. My mom got up to get some cake she had baked, leaving me alone with Rose. That’s when things changed forever. Rose was an attractive woman, about 5’6”, skinny, with long black hair and pearly white teeth.

As I sat there, she turned to me. She had this creepy grin on her face, bright red lipstick, and bright white teeth making it look even scarier. Her head moved slowly, almost like a puppet. She said something in a very low tone, too quiet for me to understand. “Excuse me?” I asked, still not scared, just a bit weirded out.

“You ready to go now?”

She said this in the voice of a child, maybe an 8-year-old girl. The grin was still there. She spoke those words through her teeth, never opening her jaw. “What?” I asked, starting to feel scared. “You ready?” she repeated, in the same voice. This time, she pulled an orange out of her purse. She just took it out and held it there. She didn't offer it or eat it, just held the thing. At that point, I was getting really scared. Luckily, my mom came back with the cake. Rose, almost as if someone flipped a switch, went back to her normal self, putting the orange back into her purse without my mom noticing. I left the balcony feeling creeped out, but being 17, I brushed it off quickly.

A Terrifying Midnight Visitor

That night, I had trouble sleeping. My room was on the first floor, and my window was about 5 feet high. I kept looking at it, praying not to see some scary monster. I would turn in my bed constantly, checking the window every few minutes. It was getting late, and I started to doze off, but decided to look one last time.

And there she was. Standing in the window. Rose. Just standing there, looking directly at me. The moonlight was bright enough for me to see her, with the same grin on her face. Her lipstick was red as ever, and her teeth were whiter than ever. I was paralyzed with fear. I had often imagined what I’d do in situations like these, always having an escape plan. But now, with my mother’s friend staring at me through my window at 4 AM, just smiling, I was motionless.

My mouth got dry, I got goosebumps, and I swear it became freezing in my room, probably just my body reacting to shock. I finally gathered the courage to get up. I started walking towards the door. Her head turned with me, slowly, with the grin still there. Again, it was as if she were a puppet. I wanted to scream for my parents, but knowing how tense they were, I decided not to cause panic just yet. There had to be some rational explanation, right?

For some reason, I decided to walk to the window and ask her what her problem was. I took two slow steps towards it and froze. I froze because she moved. Her movement was taking the orange out of her purse. Does anyone know what the record time is for having goosebumps? Because mine sure as hell weren’t going away. After being terrified for a minute, I decided to go on. I was a big guy and figured I’d be able to fight her off if it came to that. My windows pull up to open. I pulled it open maybe 10 inches and stopped. She wasn’t moving, just holding the orange and looking at me with the scariest grin you’ll ever see. I stood there. She stood there. Then, she started bending. Every move she made was so slow, so mechanical. She was bending to reach the open part of the window.

I was horrified. She pushed her head through it, just enough space for her head to go through. “You go with me now?” she said, in her 8-year-old voice. As she spoke, her hand made its way through the crack, holding an orange. What did I do? What anyone would do. I ran. I ran out of my room, screaming for my dad. My dad, being a light sleeper, jumped out of bed and screamed back, asking what was going on. All I could say was “Rose… window.” While dad put his pants on, I ran back to my room, wanting Rose to still be there so he could see I wasn’t crazy.

You know how in horror movies the person you saw is gone by the time witnesses come? Well, something similar happened, except I caught Rose leaving. There was a house about 100 yards away from mine, and it had motion-activated lights. I saw the light turn on and a glimpse of Rose disappearing behind that house. By the time dad ran into my room, she was gone. After much talking, he decided it was just a nightmare and told me to call him only if someone physically came into my room. “You and your imagination,” he said, walking away. Needless to say, I got exactly zero hours of sleep that night.

The Kitchen's Chilling Revelation

Nothing happened in the next few months. Rose would still visit my mom, but I made sure I wasn’t there. Forget that. As in every teenager’s life, so many things were happening around me, and I forgot about the Rose incident. Then one day, I was spending my afternoon browsing the internet. I got pretty hungry, so like any spoiled child, I yelled from my room to see if my mom would come. She didn't. Oh well, tough luck, I had to go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich.

The kitchen in our house is connected to the living room, but you can’t see the living room until you’re at least in the middle of the kitchen. So I opened the kitchen door and walked in. I froze. There it was, right there on the kitchen table. An orange. My immediate thought was that creepy night. Rose is here. I was still motionless in my spot. A few seconds later, I realized how stupid I was for relating a common piece of fruit to a crazy window stalker. So I walked towards the table, wanting to put the orange back in the fruit cabinet.

I grabbed the thing and heard the voice behind me: “You will have to come with me soon, you know.” It was that child’s voice. It was Rose. I made some kind of noise resembling a scared pig about to be slaughtered. Lightning fast, I turned around, and there she was, standing in the middle of the living room. Just standing there, the same grin on her face, the same lipstick on her lips, teeth white as ever. Only she had started tilting her head to the left a bit, in slow motion.

I remember it as if it happened yesterday: her long black hair falling down her shoulders, a white summer dress, bright red shoes to match her lipstick. I forgot to mention that she was very pale. Even in the summer, she seemed to not be friends with the sun. This added to her creepiness. Here was this woman who had already scared me once, standing alone in the middle of my living room, pale as a ghost, bright red lipstick and shoes, tilting her head to the side, speaking in a child’s voice. And then, and then, she took an orange out of her purse. She took it out slowly and looked at me, as if she wanted me to have it. Just as my self-defense mode was about to take over and I either ran away or tackled the crazy woman, my mom walked in. I know it didn’t happen, but it seemed like my mom brought the light into the room. I released a breath of relief. Rose, of course, went back to her “normal” self. They were about to go for a walk, and my mom was getting ready in her room while Rose was pulling her strange act on me.

Since my parents wouldn't believe anything I was saying about her, I wasn't sure what to do. The only thing I could do at that age was nothing, I suppose. But I swore I’d punch that woman should she ever come close to me again.

The Final

Warning on the Balcony

A year or so passed without any incidents, and I was getting ready to go to the United States to study in college. Since I was going to play basketball there, I had to prepare for it. I spent the summer away from home, working out in a training camp in a town about 40 miles from my city. During the last night of the camp, the last incident happened.

My roommate had left the camp the day before, and I had the room to myself. I was very excited about going to America in a few days and had trouble sleeping. My room had a beautiful balcony. I was on the third floor of a hotel. Since it was warm, I decided to sit in the chair on the balcony for a while. I walked out, sat down, and immediately regretted it.

“It is really time to come now.”

I nearly soiled myself. I mean, it had been a while since I last heard that voice, but something like that stays with you forever. I turned my head to the right, and Rose was standing on the fence of the balcony of the room next to mine. Mind you, not standing on the balcony floor, or sitting at the table, but standing on the fence. How she was balancing, I don’t know. The balcony was at least 50 feet from the ground. And she was holding the orange. The freaking orange. Only this time, the orange seemed to have been somewhat rotten, not nearly as bright as the first three times.

I was scared that she would attempt to jump over to my balcony, as there was only a few feet distance between them. I was also scared she’d die trying to do so, and I’d be blamed somehow. I had no idea what was going on. “It really is time, you know,” she said in that child-like voice, never opening her jaw, her teeth forever clenched together, and lipstick the color of fresh blood. She seemed even paler this time, and her head was tilted to the left even more. She wore red shoes.

“What do you want from me?” I screamed in desperation, angry that this woman was causing me so much distress. I also hoped that someone would hear me and come witness this crazy woman’s harassment. “I only want you to go where you belong.” She said that, and again, never opened her teeth. She only sprang her hand more towards me, almost offering me that semi-rotten orange. “Forget you, you crazy woman,” I yelled.

I opened the door of my room, and as I was walking in, I heard: “You will come.” I slammed the door, deciding this woman was schizophrenic. I would have probably flipped out more, but I was leaving the continent in a few days, at which point I would be safe. Wrong.

Seven

Years of Peace, Then a Familiar Chill

I know I have written a lot, but this is the shortest version of these creepy events. I came to the US and have been here for 7 years now. I forgot about the incidents and went on with my life. The only time I ever thought about Rose was when talking to my mom, who said that since I left, her friendship with the crazy woman fell apart. I was glad. The last 7 years were the best of my life. I got bachelor’s and master’s degrees, and I got a wonderful girlfriend, Sarah.

We moved in together a few months ago. Our apartment is on the third floor, with a small balcony overlooking a park. One evening, Sarah was out with friends, and I was home alone, reading. I heard a faint scratching sound coming from the balcony door. I thought it was just the wind, maybe a branch rubbing against the glass. It grew a little louder, a rhythmic scrape. I got up to check, feeling a familiar, cold dread begin to spread through me.

I pulled back the curtain, and there it was. Not Rose, not yet. But on the small table outside, where Sarah and I often had coffee, sat a single, slightly rotten orange. It was identical to the one Rose held at the training camp. My breath caught in my throat. I stared at it, my mind racing through all those forgotten nightmares. Then, a low, child-like voice, barely a whisper, floated from the darkness of the park below.

“It is really time to come now.”

The Lingering

Shadow of the Orange

I am sitting here now, typing this, with tears in my eyes and my body covered in goosebumps. The apartment is quiet, but I feel like I am being watched. I checked the balcony, the orange is still there. I closed the curtains tightly, locked the door, and even put a chair in front of it. I know it sounds childish for a grown man, but the fear is real and overwhelming. It is the same fear I felt as a teenager.

Rose is back, or at least, whatever she is, it has found me again. After all these years, after believing I was safe on another continent, the orange has reappeared. The child’s voice has returned. I don't know what she wants, or why she chose me. I just know that the terror I buried for so long has resurfaced, stronger than ever, and I have no idea what to do. I feel like I am trapped in a nightmare that began with a creepy grin and a simple piece of fruit, a nightmare that has now followed me across the world.

This story, these encounters with Rose and her mysterious orange, remain completely unexplained. The logical part of my brain struggles to make sense of her sudden appearances, her strange voice, and her unsettling fixation. I am left with a chilling question: what exactly is Rose, and what does she want me to come to? The thought alone is enough to keep me awake, forever wondering when the orange will appear next.