At first, he was just a stranger on a train, but things soon got
creepy.
Traveling from Florida to New York, we were seated
together on the crowded train. The long trip was made longer still, by heavy
rain pouring down the windows and flooding the tracks.
To pass the time, The Stranger and I began to talk. This was
amid the drone of passengers talking and laughing, their chatter occasionally
punctuated by the cries of restless children.
Everything seemed normal as The Stranger told me about his
job at a large ministry. He also told me about a near-death experience that had
changed his life and inspired his conversion to Christianity.
As a newspaper correspondent and freelance writer, I'm
always on the alert for an interesting story. Sometimes this has gotten me into
trouble. This would be one of those times.
The Stranger was pleased to hear I'm a writer and I took
notes as he spoke. When I told him I would write his story and try to get it
published in a magazine, he was thrilled. He would have nothing less than one
of the most popular—Guideposts.
Mentioning I had a few stories published in Guideposts, I said I would give them a try. That's
when things began to get weird.
With no warning, The Stranger began praying at the top of
his lungs.
Not knowing what else to do, I bowed my head. But I realized
the train, just seconds before filled with chatter, had become deathly silent.
I glanced up to see questioning faces staring our way.
After that, the trip dragged on as The Stranger talked non-stop
about himself and the story he was certain would be published in Guideposts.
As the train approached New York City, we exchanged business cards and
I told him I'd be in touch if I had any questions or news about the story.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally parted ways at Pennsylvania
Station. But that would not be the last of The Stranger. No sooner had I
unpacked my suitcase, than he began emailing me.
"Did you get it written? Did you send it? Do you have a
contract?"
It was obvious this guy thought my entire life revolved
around writing his story. Forget about my husband, children, cooking, cleaning
and newspaper deadlines.
I imagine he pictured editors at Guideposts on the edge of
their seats, waiting for his article to arrive. In reality, it would take its
place at the end of a long list of stories vying for attention. The process can
drag on for months, even years and ultimately, most are rejected.
Such is the world of publishing.
I was relieved to finally send the story on its way and get
it out of my hair—but not the Stranger. His endless messages took on an
increasingly creepy tone.
I thought you were
going to get my story published. What happened? Did you lie?
When Guideposts rejected it, the messages got creepier
still. He began addressing me as "sweetheart, dear" and
"darling."
I kept my responses business-like, telling him I would
submit the story elsewhere.
During this time, my husband Dan and I attended services at
our church. We had a guest speaker that day, a well-known Christian musician
and artist, touring churches around the country, mentioning them throughout his
talk.
Hearing the name of
the ministry where The Stranger worked, Dan and I looked at each other in
surprise. I didn't know, but Dan had hatched a plan.
Following the message, we went up to greet Mr. Famous Guy.
We told him we enjoyed his message, then Dan asked if he
knew "so-and-so" (The Stranger) who worked at such-and-such ministry.
A big smile spread over Famous Guy's face. "Oh yes, I
often speak at that ministry and I know him very well."
"My wife's a writer," Dan explained. "She's
writing about the near-death experience that changed his life."
Famous Guy was familiar with the story. "That's great.
It needs to be told.
At home, Dan composed an email to The Stranger. He told him
we'd met Mr. Famous Guy and discussed the story I had written.
"And by the way," Dan added. "From now on,
I'll be handling my wife's correspondence, so send all your questions and
comments to me."
When the message was sent, Dan explained that he was making
The Stranger accountable to someone influential, who could make or break his
career.
"He probably never expected the connection between his
personal life and his work," Dan said.
After that, I never heard from The Stranger, although Dan
contacted him when his story was published in a Christian newspaper distributed
throughout the nation.
I was glad for that, but the incident left me more wary of
strangers. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
