A woman used to harass me when I was a child

I know this is going to be long, and I apologize in advance.

This happened sometime around 2006–2007, when I was 7 years old.

I used to play outside with a few kids from my neighborhood. We weren’t a very big group, but we could still look out for each other.

The places we spent the most time around were our school, which was only a couple blocks away from my house, and an old abandoned park that was already completely overgrown with weeds.

I should mention that my parents only let me go outside under one condition: I was never allowed to separate from the other kids. And if they ever decided to go farther than the school area, I had to immediately go back home, no matter how much they called me a coward for not going with them.

My parents also warned me not to go into the neighborhood behind ours, since they didn’t know any of the people living there, meaning nobody would be keeping an eye on us.

One day, my friends and I were playing in the abandoned park when a woman showed up.

I don’t remember her face very clearly. I’d be lying if I tried to describe it. But looking back now, she was probably somewhere in her mid-thirties.

She called my friends and me over and said she’d seen us playing in front of her house the other day, and that we caught her attention.

She had a plastic bag filled with candy. She explained that her kids had gone to a party recently and came home with way more candy than usual, more than they could possibly eat.

Then she started handing it out to us.

My friends would just grab the candy and walk away without even thanking her. I was the only one who did.

The woman crouched down and tugged lightly on my shirt before whispering:

“Here. This is for being polite.”

Then she gave me another handful.

I thanked her again and went back home, hiding the candy because I knew my parents would ask where I got it from.

A few weeks later, my dad gave me some money to buy whatever I wanted from the little store near our house.

But when I turned a corner, I saw the woman sitting on the sidewalk, nervously bouncing her foot while staring off into nothing.

The moment she noticed me, she smiled from ear to ear and started jogging toward me.

She asked why I hadn’t been hanging out with my friends lately, and I told her I’d gotten into an argument with one of them over something stupid. Nothing serious, at least not that I remember.

She hugged me and told me it was okay. She said she knew I was a good boy and that the others were bad influences, and that I was doing the right thing by staying away from them.

But while she hugged me, something felt… wrong.

Her body trembled slightly. Not exactly shaking — more like some kind of nervous tic.

Anyway, she invited me to her house. She told me her children were there and that she thought they’d love to have a friend like me.

I obviously refused. I wasn’t dumb enough to go to a stranger’s house.

She took it surprisingly well. She said she understood, but that she’d do everything she could so we could become friends.

A few days later, my parents told me they were going out to buy dinner and asked if I wanted to come with them.

I was watching cartoons, so I said no.

Before leaving, they gave me a very serious warning:

“Don’t open the door for anyone. If you hear someone screaming, crying, or anything strange outside, stay down, close the curtains, and turn off the lights.”

Then they left.

About ten minutes later, I heard someone tapping on the living room window.

Of course, it was her.

Ignoring everything my parents had told me, I opened the window because by that point, I had started trusting her a little.

The only thing separating us was an old steel fence that stained your hands if you touched it.

The woman greeted me and asked where my parents were.

I told her they had gone out to buy dinner, but that they’d be back soon.

Then she asked if I could let her inside.

The second she finished saying those words, I felt something strange. Like an invisible force pulling me backward — not physically, but somewhere deep inside my body.

I told her no and used the excuse that my parents had locked the door before leaving, which they actually had.

She didn’t seem too bothered by it and started searching through her pockets.

She pulled out more candy and said she’d brought it just for us.

I reached my hand out so she could give me one.

Before she did, though, she grabbed my wrist and looked closely at my arm.

“Wait,” she said softly. “Your skin is so soft.”

Then she slowly ran her fingers along my forearm while repeating how soft it felt.

Starting to feel uncomfortable, I told her I wanted the candy.

She let go of my arm and handed it to me.

She ate one too.

Every time I finished one, she’d give me another in a different flavor while eating one herself.

She probably gave me three or four.

But when we got to the fifth one, she didn’t hand it to me.

Instead, she put it in her mouth herself, rolled it around on her tongue for a few seconds, then pulled it back out and held it toward me.

“Here,” she said. “Try this one.”

I was disgusted.

At that age, girls already seemed gross to me. But having someone pull candy out of their mouth and offer it to me made me feel sick.

She laughed softly and told me that sooner or later, I’d end up swapping candy directly from a girl’s mouth anyway.

I told her how disgusting I thought that was.

She looked a little offended after that, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Afterward, she picked up all the candy wrappers from the ground and left.

A few minutes later, my parents came home with dinner.

They immediately noticed my mouth was stained with food coloring and asked what I’d eaten.

I lied and told them I’d taken some candy from a cabinet in the kitchen.

They believed me. They got a little annoyed and scolded me for eating candy before dinner.

More days passed.

Then one morning, when I was supposed to be getting ready for school, my dad told me not to put my uniform on.

Instead, he said my mom had ironed some regular clothes for me.

I got dressed, and we drove to the police station.

A man approached me. He was actually very kind.

Then he showed me a picture of the woman I’d been talking to and asked:

“Has this woman been giving you candy?”

I told him yes.

I told him she was my friend.

Then he asked if anything else had happened. If she had touched me.

I told him yes — that she would sometimes stroke my arm or my back whenever I saw her.

The officer didn’t say anything else after that.

I just remember losing sight of him.

Sorry for ending the story so abruptly. There are still a lot of details I left out so this wouldn’t end up even longer.

If anyone else has experienced something similar, feel free to share your story too.

And if people want, I can make another post talking about the details I skipped.

Stay safe, everyone.

And remember:

You are not alone.