The Watcher Was Never Caught. He Just Moved.

In June 2014, a family closed on their dream house in Westfield, New Jersey. A big old six-bedroom home on a quiet, tree-lined street, in the town where the wife had grown up. They paid about 1.3 million dollars.¹

A few days later, before they had moved in, a letter arrived. Typed. Addressed to "The New Owner."¹

It welcomed them. It said the writer's family had watched the house for decades. That the writer's grandfather had watched it in the 1920s, and his father in the 1960s, and now it was his turn. It asked whether they had found out yet what was in the walls. It asked about their children. It wanted to know their names, so it would know what to call them. It said the house had been waiting for "young blood."¹

It was signed The Watcher.¹

More letters came. They described the family's car. They described what the children did in the yard. They said the writer could see the house from where he was.¹

The family went to the police. Investigators looked at neighbors and ran tests on the envelopes. Nobody was ever charged.¹

The family never moved in. They tried to sell. Buyers backed out when they heard. They sued the people who had sold them the house, who, it turned out, had received a letter from The Watcher themselves, just before they sold. The lawsuit was dismissed.¹

In 2019, five years after buying it, the family finally sold the house at a loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars.²

The Watcher has never been identified.

He has also never stopped being a story people tell about their own houses. That is the thing about The Watcher. Everyone who has heard of him has, at least once, looked out a window at night and wondered.

Dana Mercer and her husband bought a house in Shaker Heights, Ohio, in May. Old brick. Big porch. A sycamore in the front yard so wide that three kids could hide behind it. They had three kids. It was perfect.

The first letter was in the mailbox on the third day.

No stamp. No postmark. Typed on cream paper.

Dear New Owner,

Welcome to the house. I hope you like it. My family has been here a long time. Not inside, of course. Near.

I see you have three. The house has always liked children. It has been a long time since there were children.

Do you know which room is the oldest? You will. I will help you.

The Watcher

Dana's husband laughed. He had read about Westfield. Everyone had. There had been a TV show.

"It's a copycat," he said. "Some teenager on the street who watched Netflix."

They called the police anyway. An officer came, read the letter, and said the same thing. Copycat. Probably harmless. Keep the letters. Call if anything changes.

The second letter came a week later. It knew the kids' names. All three.

The third letter came with a printout of the real estate listing photo of the house, the one from before they bought it. Someone had circled one window in red ink. A small window on the third floor, in the attic.

The house did not have a third floor.