Stalk: to track prey or quarry. Yikes! Not fun. Not fun at all.
As an educator, one expects prank calls and scratching on window screens. It's a rite of passage. The best ways to handle those antics are to laugh them off or scare the prankster off.
However, I had one very unpleasant incident which went beyond the realm of teenage pranks. I had a stalker. Every time the phone rang, I was hesitant to answer because I was afraid it was him. The things he said frightened me and I'm not easily frightened. He knew what time my husband left the house and always called shortly after his departure. He knew every move I made. He would tell me what I was wearing, what I had been doing and where I was standing. He scared the crap out of me.
I got the police involved and they traced his calls. He was arrested and charged. I was more than shocked to find out that the accused was one of my theatre students. I was sure the police had made a mistake. I even tried to convince the police that it was the student's father because he gave me creepy vibes. This father used to sneak into our evening theatre rehearsals and sit alone in the dark. I had warned my female students to stay away from him. In return, my female students protected me every time the father slipped into the dark theatre to sit quietly behind me. The father's arrest would not have surprised me at all. Did I mention that the father was a preacher?
During the trial of the accused student, a clerical error concerning the date of arrest was discovered on one of the court forms. The judge dismissed the case after loud protests by prosecutors and police. As I was leaving the courthouse, the student and his demented family surrounded my car, danced like demons and shouted obscenities like I've never heard.
They moved shortly after this incident. I've often wondered how many other women have had to fall prey to this sick family of stalkers.
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