You know, they say everyone has a story to tell. Whether it’s a joyous, heartwarming tale or a dreadful one filled with fear and gloom. Mine is no different, only that it is deeply traumatizing. It’s about the horrifying encounter I had with Robber Robert Johnson—the notorious serial burglar—in the heart of the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps: New York.
When Nightmares Came to Life
The night was black as ink, June 21, 2016—I remember the date distinctly because it was the summer solstice, the longest day of daylight in all of New York State. As the city turned into a quiet hum at 2 am, my peaceful night was about to turn into an unimaginable horror story.
The Silent Intrusion
I remember suddenly jolting awake to a chilling breeze that had found its way through my slightly open bedroom window. The hushed whispers of the birch trees outside were seemingly conspiring together, murmuring warnings of the impending doom. A disconcerting click pierced the silence—it was the sound of my front door unlocking.
I saw him enter. He moved with such stealth and precision that anyone else might have mistaken him for a shadow. Except he was not. He was Robert Johnson—a man who bore no fear, a man whose name alone evoked terror across New York City.
A Dance with Fear
My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I saw him moving through my home, sweeping through my belongings like a deadly predator. His gloved hands expertly sifted through my possessions—years of hard work, cherished memories—they were merely trinkets for his acute kleptomania.
I froze as he neared the foot of my bed. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the room with unsettling meticulousness. He was inches away from me, his rancid breath reeked of musty damp basements and abandoned alleys—his sanctuaries.
The Encounter
In one swift movement, our eyes met. His icy stare sent chills crawling down my spine—an electric shock of stark terror. But here’s the thing about fear, it can push you to do unexpected things. It wasn’t courage that made me lunge forth; it was raw, gut-wrenching fear—it was survival.
Our struggle was a chaotic blend of muted grunts and stifled cries. I fought with an unyielding determination fueled by adrenaline but alas, Robert Johnson had wrestled many lives into subordination. As his vice-like grip tightened around me, black spots began to dance before my eyes.
Survival—the Sweetest Victory
Salvation came in the form of distant sirens piercing through the chaos like wild banshees—someone must’ve alerted 911—thank heavens for New York City’s nosy neighbors! The promise of retribution made Johnson skittish, and I seized the opportunity to break free.
I stumbled towards my bedroom window and hurled it wide open—my desperate screams echoed in the otherwise silent night. The sounds of approaching NYPD cars reverberated heavily against the city walls., and fear found a home on Robert Johnson’s face.
The Grim Aftermath
They found me crumpled on the floor of my apartment—a victim left traumatized by an unhindered invasion of my sanctuary. While the wound healed, scars remained—as tangible reminders of my encounter with Robert Johnson.
That night changed me profoundly—robbed me of my sense of safety in my own home. Despite having the privilege to live in New York City, the city of dreams, and one of the most modern metropolises of the world, I found out that there also lurked shadows of unforeseen horrors.
But, I am a survivor—more than surviving that horrific ordeal, I have survived the daunting battle against fear that it sparked within me. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger—I learned it firsthand.
My story is a grim testament to how, beneath the glitz and glamour of a sparkling city like New York, danger roams as freely as it does anywhere else in the world—and sometimes, it comes knocking at your door.