Omegle traumatized me for life

One of the worst things that’s ever happened to me involved a website called Omegle. I was really shy back when I was a junior in high school. I had lots of anxiety and not so many friends, not through any fault of my own though. My parents used to move around a lot for work, so every so often we’d just pick up sticks and move someplace new. This played absolute havoc on my social development for a while, and by the time I joined this new school during my junior year, I not only couldn’t find the confidence to speak to people, I just didn’t want to either. Like, what was the point when I was probably just going to move somewhere else within 12 months?

But saying that, I also craved social interaction. I wanted it so bad but just had no idea how to get it in any way that didn’t turn me into a nervous wreck. That’s when I found Omegle. At first, I only ever used the text option. There was no way I was going to put myself on webcam for some total stranger to see. I talked to random internet people about politics, video games, pretty much anything, and after a while I really started to feel myself kind of coming out of my shell.

And it wasn’t just text chatting with people online. The thing that did it was being able to learn to take rejection. Every so often on Omegle someone would get bored and just ghost me. Maybe they didn’t like the conversation, maybe they didn’t like me, whatever it was, they just up and disappeared. The first few times it happened after a decent amount of conversation, that really got to me. Total anonymity brought out some really cruel sides to people, but it somehow also brought out the best in them too. I’d have some real heart-to-hearts with complete and utter strangers, work out complex issues I had with myself. Together we’d set the world to rights, and when it was over—poof—gone. I’d never talk to them again.

I ended up talking to a handful of girls on Omegle too, at least they told me they were girls. Either way, I got a flutter of excitement the first few times. A couple of them asked if I wanted to talk dirty, but I ended up leaving those chats on account of just not being proficient in it. Like, I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. Anyway, I kind of got over the novelty of it after a while. Hearing that someone was female became kind of a non-issue for me. It was pointless trying to practice talking to them online anyway. I knew I’d freeze up if we ever met in person.

But it did happen once more for me—that kind of butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling—after talking to some random stranger for like an hour and a half one night. We didn’t talk about one particular thing. We talked about everything, in this long, rolling, intense conversation that was as intelligent as it was amusing. I was actually pretty sure the person was a guy, given some of the hobbies they claimed to have, so you can imagine how surprised I was when they said they were a girl. I was kind of speechless.

Only once had I ever gotten the inkling to actually ask someone for their personal contact info so we could keep the conversation going, and that person had ghosted as soon as I asked. I wasn’t about to risk any more of my pride like that again, especially when I was certain that this girl in particular would make all the rejection pain come flooding back all anew.

So anyway, I find out they’re a girl, get excited, but choose to basically ignore it. Not only was I sticking to my “never fully believe someone online is a girl until you hear their voice or see a verification picture or video” rule, but I really could feel myself getting overly excited. Like, if it was a girl and she was like my dream girl, that wasn’t something I thought I could face right then, as weird as that might sound.

So I keep the conversation going like it had been, and suddenly I find myself actually kind of flirting. I was probably doing it really badly, but for the first time in my entire teenage years, flirting was something that actually felt sort of natural. The whole thing was going so well that after we happened to both name Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls as our favorite book, I just thought, screw it, and asked if she wanted to talk over webcam.

If it was a dude pretending, or she wasn’t who she said she was, then fine—I’d cut my losses. But if she was…

We tried to line up a little text countdown to us flicking on our webcams, which ended up being goofy and incredibly inaccurate, but it was still kind of cute and helped me get rid of what little anxiety I had left.

And when I saw her… wow.

She was gorgeous. Legit one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen to this day. And after some initial blushing and awkwardness, we carried on our conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her name was Emily, and I’ve never crushed on a girl as hard as her, ever.

We spent like another two hours just chatting like that, and the whole time I was terrified of getting disconnected or something. But I was still way too scared to ask for, like, a phone number or email or something, so I was just kind of stuck in limbo like that for a while until I could summon up the courage.

She was a senior who lived a few states away, but that didn’t bother me. So I tried to push the conversation towards relationships and whatnot, which gave me a way into asking her if she’s single. She replies that she is single, but she might not be for long because she met this really cute guy.

Obviously, I’m kind of disappointed to hear that, and I tell her I think whoever he is is a lucky guy. She starts laughing and says, “I was talking about you, idiot.”

And I think if I’d blushed any harder, I’d have gotten a full-body pins and needles. By the time I regained my composure, I knew the time was right to ask for her number. So I think of a smooth way to ask her, one that’s witty but genuine, then work up to nailing the delivery.

When I think I see something in the window behind her.

Only it’s light in her bedroom and dark outside, so I can’t exactly see what it is. I ask if she lives with her parents. She confirms she does. Then I ask if it’s on a ground-floor apartment, and she says no, that it was a two-story and that her bedroom was on the first floor.

And that’s when I start to worry.

Because if she lived on the second floor, why did I think I could see what looked like a face just hovering in her window like that?

And how do you even tell someone that? “Oh, we’re having this awesome conversation, and I’m just going to be a jerk by telling you there’s a face in your window,” even though I’m not 100% sure of anything?

I carry on staring at the dark shape for a second or two, trying to make sure it’s not just my eyes or my monitor playing tricks on me.

Emily obviously notices my change in expression and asks me if everything’s okay. I’m like, “Uh, sure, I just thought I saw something.”

She turns around, looks at the window, then tells me there’s nothing there—probably just a smudge on my monitor or something. I look again. It’s just black. So I put it down to all the adrenaline going through me and just assume I made a mistake.

The conversation carries on for a while.

Then the same thing happens.

I’m so sure that I see movement in the window behind her that I actually just snap and say, “Yeah, I think there’s something outside your window.”

She looks again, laughs, and says, “Oh, you mean that big branch out there? Yeah, we have a tree in our front yard, and it’s windy all the time. It’s probably just that.”

We laugh, and it breaks the tension, but it also sidetracks my move to ask for her number. So I decide to work up to it again.

But right when I get there—right when I’m about to be like, “So what’s your phone number?”—I see movement yet again, just over her shoulder.

Only this time, it’s really obvious.

The window behind her is opening.

You could see the white bars shifting really slowly behind her.

And I knew well that it was no tree branch, and that my eyes were definitely not playing tricks on me that time.

I wasn’t chill or suggestive about it.

I just straight up shouted, “Emily, the window!”

She spins around to see exactly what I can see, which is a person wearing dark clothing climbing in through the open window.

The webcam on her laptop was super low resolution, so I couldn’t see much apart from Emily just disappearing from the camera as she screamed and ran out of the room—only to be followed by this dark figure chasing her at speed.

I just had to sit there and listen to the most horrific screaming and shouting sounds I’ve ever heard.

She was home alone at the time, so there was just one set of female screams, and occasionally this rough bark of the guy who was chasing her.

Then all of a sudden, there was a really high-pitched wail before everything went deathly quiet.

I grabbed my phone and called 911, frantically, not even thinking that I had absolutely nothing to tell the dispatcher other than, “I think I’m witnessing a home invasion.”

I didn’t know where Emily lived other than that she was in New Hampshire. I had no last name, no specifics whatsoever that could actually lead the cops to her location.

In the end, I got so frustrated that I hung up.

There was nothing I could do.

I just stared at the webcam image of her empty bedroom, praying she was okay. I’m not sure how long I was sat there, so I couldn’t tell if the cops showed up quickly or not—only that they did show up.

I knew because I heard the sirens before I saw the flashing lights from the window of Emily’s room.

I heard them break into the house. Then I heard them shouting stuff like, “Police! Show me your hands!” and other garbled things.

And I actually heard gunshots.

Maybe 15 to 20 in all. It’s hard to say for certain, but it was a lot.

I actually stayed on camera until I could get a cop’s attention and told them that I’d seen the guy breaking in.

This ended up with me getting a call from a New Hampshire detective, but once I told him that I’d only seen one person break in and that’s all I’d seen via the webcam, he pretty much lost interest.

Then I asked if Emily was okay.

He sighed, and I could hear him putting on his professional voice before he even really spoke.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, son, but Emily passed away this morning after you two spoke.”

I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but be safe in the knowledge that any information you give me will go towards catching the guy who did this to her.

Not exactly what he said, but you get the idea.

I figured it was just a robber, someone who wanted to subdue her before he emptied the house of valuables.

But he killed her.

The guy did things to her, and then he killed her.

He didn’t even run once he’d done it either. He stuck around to carry on doing things to her until the cops showed up to shoot him when he must have rushed them or something. Must have had a weapon.

For days afterwards, I searched the internet for articles about a New Hampshire murder and home invasion.

And God help me, I found one.

And that’s why I know so much about the details of what had happened.

And how this was about six or seven years ago, and they still haven’t caught the guy who did it.

I do have hope, as most families do, because guys are getting caught years later when the cops get a lucky DNA match or something.

But given how much I got so attached to Emily in that short period of time, knowing that there was so much special spark between us—and then hearing her final scream—that’s been something that’s messed with me for years.

And I still take anti-anxiety medication all this time later.

I think my time using Omegle was like the golden years of my social life, because now I’m back to just not getting close to people.

Not because I can’t or I don’t want to.

This time, it’s because I just don’t have it in me to form meaningful attachments.

But I know just how easily people can be taken away from us.