The Letters from the Watcher: Westfield’s Suburban Nightmare

Six bedrooms. A sprawling lawn. A quiet, tree-lined street in one of New Jersey’s safest towns.

In June 2014, Derek and Maria Broaddus closed on 657 Boulevard in Westfield for \$1.3 million. They’d worked for years to give their three children this life — the kind of neighborhood where nothing bad ever happens.

Or so they thought.

The First Letter

Three days after the purchase, Derek stopped by the house alone to do some painting. He checked the mailbox before leaving. Inside was a thick, white envelope, handwritten and addressed simply to:

“The New Owner.”

The note began politely enough:

> “Dearest new neighbor at 657 Boulevard, allow me to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Then the words shifted, twisting into something darker.

The writer claimed the house had been under their family’s watch for decades, passed from one generation of “Watchers” to the next. They said they were “tasked” with observing the home, studying its inhabitants, and waiting for the “young blood” to arrive.

> “Have they found out what’s in the walls yet?”

The letter mentioned the Broaddus children by nickname and age — information they had told no one. It was signed:

— The Watcher

The Fear Spreads

The Broadduses called police immediately. Officers advised them to stay quiet to avoid tipping off the suspect.

But within weeks, another letter arrived:

> “657 Boulevard has been the subject of my family for decades now. I have been put in charge of watching and waiting for its second coming.”

The Watcher described the house’s layout, which windows the children might use, and even where the family had placed certain belongings.

> “It will help me to know who is in which bedroom. Then I can plan better.”

Terrified, Derek and Maria stopped bringing their children to the property.

A Dream Home Turned Trap

More letters came. Each one was more unsettling than the last:

> “You have children. I have seen them. There are three that I have counted… Do you need to fill the house with the young blood I requested? Better for me.”

The Broadduses couldn’t move in — the danger felt too real. But they couldn’t sell either, not without warning potential buyers. The perfect home had become a prison, even before they lived in it.

The Investigation

Police questioned neighbors, set up surveillance, and tested DNA from one envelope. One neighbor’s sample was tested, but it didn’t match.

Theories swirled:

• A resentful neighbor angry about the purchase.
• Someone jealous of their wealth.
• A local with an obsessive connection to the house.

But no suspect was ever identified.



A Legal Stalemate

In 2015, the Broadduses sued the home’s previous owners, John and Andrea Woods, claiming they had also received a Watcher letter before the sale and failed to disclose it.

The Woods admitted they had gotten one letter but insisted they thought it was a harmless prank. The case was dismissed.

The Broadduses tried to sell the home but failed. They petitioned to tear it down and split the lot, but the planning board blocked the plan.



The Fourth Letter

The house sat empty for years. Then in 2017, after the case had gone public, a new family moved in.

Derek and Maria, still the owners at the time, received another letter from The Watcher:

> “Maybe a car accident. Maybe a fire. Maybe something as simple as a mild illness that never seems to go away but makes you feel sick day after day after day after day. Maybe the mysterious death of a pet. Loved ones suddenly die. Planes and cars and bicycles crash. Bones break.”

It was a direct threat — and a reminder that The Watcher’s attention hadn’t faded.



The Unsettling End

In 2019, after five years of fear and financial loss, the Broadduses finally sold 657 Boulevard — at a significant loss.

The Watcher has never been caught. The identity of the letter writer remains a mystery.

The case inspired podcasts, documentaries, and even a Netflix series. But for Derek and Maria, it wasn’t entertainment — it was years of paranoia, sleepless nights, and a dream home turned nightmare.



The Last Word

Today, Westfield still looks like the perfect suburban town. But for those who know the story, every quiet street and every shadowed window holds the same question:

Who is The Watcher?

And are they still watching?