The house was quiet that night, quieter than usual.
Mom was in the living room, her head buried in bills spread
across the coffee table, muttering about overdue
payments. I finished my dinner alone, the
sound of my fork scraping the plate echoing in the stillness.
It wasn't strange for me to eat by myself.
Mom was always busy, but something about the silence felt
heavier. I rinsed my plate, turned off
the kitchen light, and made my way to my room.
The hallway stretched before me, dim and shadowed, the faint wind
outside rattling the loose panes of glass.
I flicked on my bedroom light and closed the door, a small
ritual I'd done 1000 times before.
My dog, Jerry, was already curled up in his usual spot on
the old rug by my bed. The room should have felt
familiar, comforting even, But that night, something felt off.
I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the way the wind
seemed louder, or how the chill from outside seeped through the
window frame. I checked the lock on the
window, twisting it twice to make sure Jerry's ears twitched,
but he didn't stir. I kicked off my socks, climbed
under the covers, and tried to shake the unease pressing on my
chest. It took a while, but eventually
I drifted off. When I woke up, it was sudden,
like a splash of cold water to the face.
My heart was pounding, though I didn't know why.
The room was bathed in the faint red glow of my alarm clock. 12
O3. AMI stared at the numbers for a
moment, trying to figure out what had woken me.
The house was still, except for the soft whir of my space heater
and the distant creak of the old wood settling.
I reached down and patted Jerry, who was snoring softly.
That's when I noticed the shadows.
They flickered faintly across the curtains, dancing in the
pale moonlight. At first I thought it was the
wind, but the way they moved didn't make sense.
Too deliberate, too steady. My stomach tightened as the
unease I'd felt earlier came rushing back.
I told myself not to look. Whatever was out there, it
wasn't my problem. But my hand moved on its own,
reaching for the edge of the curtain.
Slowly, I pulled it aside just enough to peek out.
At first, I didn't see anything. The yard was empty, bathed in
silvery light. The trees at the edge of the
property swayed gently in the wind.
Then I saw him. A man standing just beyond the
tree line. His hood obscured part of his
face, but the moonlight caught his features.
Gaunt, pale eyes, sunken into shadows that didn't belong.
He didn't move, didn't make a sound.
He just stared. My chest tightened as our eyes
met. I stumbled back from the window,
my breath catching in my throat. When I dared to look again, he
was closer, his face clearer now, lips moving in some silent
chant. That's when I ran back to bed.
The morning light didn't bring the relief I thought it would.
I barely slept after what I'd seen, and every Creek, every
whisper of wind outside had me clutching the covers tighter.
When I finally opened my eyes, the pale sunlight streaming
through the curtains only reminded me how close he had
been. I sat up, Jerry still asleep at
the foot of the bed, oblivious to the terror that had unfolded
hours earlier. My alarm clock read 713.
AMI felt like I'd been hit by a truck, my body heavy, my mind
clouded. But something gnawed at me, a
tugging thought that I couldn't ignore.
I crept to the window, careful not to disturb Jerry.
The glass felt cold under my fingertips as I pulled the
curtain back, squinting against the brightness.
The yard looked normal at first glance.
The trees swayed gently, and the dew sparkled on the grass.
But then I saw them. Deep impressions in the earth,
Footprints. My stomach turned.
They led from the woods to the house, stopping directly beneath
my window. I stared at them for a long
moment, my mind racing. He had been so close, too close.
My heart pounded as I backed away, letting the curtain fall
shut. The rest of the morning was a
blur. At school, the teachers voices
sounded muffled, like I was underwater.
My friends asked if I was feeling OK, but I just nodded
and shrugged them off. How could I explain it?
How could I tell them? I'd seen a man staring at me in
the middle of the night, his face pale and hollow, his eyes
empty of anything human. When the final bell rang, I
practically sprinted home. The walk back felt different,
the usual comfort of the familiar streets replaced by a
creeping sense of being watched. Every gust of wind, every
passing car made me jump. By the time I reached the house,
I was sweating, my pulse racing. I didn't go straight to my room.
I couldn't. Instead, I found Mom in the
kitchen, sorting through the mail.
I wanted to tell her, to make her understand, but I couldn't
find the words. She barely glanced at me before
returning to her stack of envelopes.
That night, as the sunset, the unease returned.
I made sure every window was locked, every curtain drawn
tight. Jerry followed me around the
house, his nails clicking against the hardwood.
By the time I got to the back door, he was growling, a deep
guttural sound I'd never heard from him before.
That's when I saw it. The door was ajar, the chain
lock dangling uselessly. I froze, the blood draining from
my face. My trembling hand reached for
the knob, and I slammed the door shut, locking it as tightly as I
could. When Mom saw my face, she called
the police. They searched the yard, the
house, the woods, nothing. But as I stood by the back door,
my eyes caught something I hadn't noticed before.
Scratched into the wood. Faint but deliberate, was a
single word. Midnight.
My knees buckled as cold terror swept over me.
Creepy man outside my window. Let's not meet again.
It started like any other morning at the diner.
I had just put on my apron when the delivery guy came in with a
package. He was wearing the usual Courier
uniform, nothing special. I signed for it, said thanks and
moved on. There were pancakes to flip and
coffee to refill. The morning rush came and went
and soon I forgot all about him. But later, during the dinner
shift, a man sat down at the counter.
He looked different from anyone I remembered.
He wore a casual jacket, no uniform, and he seemed like just
another tired customer. He smiled and said his name was
Jared, asking for a coffee and a burger.
I didn't think much of it, after all, a lot of people came in
every day and I had a job to do. At first, Jared just wanted to
talk about the usual stuff. How long had I worked here?
Did I like it? I answered his questions while I
made drinks for the other customers.
But then his questions changed. He asked if I had a boyfriend.
I nodded, but he kept on talking.
He started complimenting my hair, my smile, even the way I
walked around the counter. I tried to ignore it, keeping my
responses short and polite, hoping he'd get the hint.
Then he leaned closer and said he'd come back just to see me.
It took me a moment to understand what he meant.
He was the delivery guy from the morning.
My stomach tightened. He was still smiling, but there
was something off about it, something that made me wish he'd
just leave. I kept glancing over at the
clock, willing time to move faster.
Eventually Jared paid his bill and got up to go.
I watched him walk out the door, feeling a wave of relief, but it
didn't last. I stepped into the back and
found Megan, my manager, taking a break.
I told her about Jared and how he had come back just to see me.
She frowned, her eyes narrowing, and told me she'd keep an eye
out. It made me feel a little better
to know she was there. The evening rush came and soon
the diner was full of the usual noises, plates clattering,
people chatting, the sizzle of the grill.
I tried to forget about Jared, but every time the door opened I
found myself looking up, half expecting to see him again.
Megan stayed near the counter and I was grateful for that.
When closing time finally came, I started to relax.
I wiped down the counter and gathered the last of The Dirty
dishes. The diner was emptying out and
it was almost peaceful. But as I glanced out the big
front window, I saw something that made my breath catch.
Jared's car was still there, parked at the edge of the lot.
He wasn't inside the diner, but he was out there somewhere in
the dark. It was just me and Megan now.
The diner was quiet, the lights still on, but everything else
was dark. I tried to focus on cleaning,
but I kept glancing outside where Jared's car sat at the far
end of the parking lot. It felt strange, like he was
waiting for something or someone.
I hurried to the back, finding Megan near the office.
He's still out there. I said, trying to keep my voice
steady. Megan's eyes widened.
She told me not to worry, that we could call the police if we
needed to. I didn't want to make a big
scene, so instead I grabbed my phone and called Ryan, my
boyfriend. I tried to explain what was
happening without sounding too scared, but Ryan could tell.
He said he was on his way and I hung up, feeling a little
better. Megan told me to wait in the
office until Ryan got here. It felt safer in there, away
from the windows. I sat down, staring at the clock
on the wall, the seconds ticking by slowly.
Megan checked on me every few minutes, making sure I was OK,
and that helped a little. Finally, I heard the sound of a
car pulling into the lot. I got up and peeked out, seeing
Ryan's car stopping near the back door.
Megan walked with me to the door and we stepped outside.
Ryan was standing by his car, looking around.
I pointed toward Jared's car, still parked with the engine
running, no headlights. Ryan didn't waste any time.
He walked right over to Jared's car, his shoulders stiff, his
steps quick. I stayed by the back door,
watching. Ryan knocked on the window and
Jared rolled it down just a little.
They talked, but I couldn't hear what they were saying.
I saw Ryan lean in, his face close to the window, and Jared
shook his head, mumbling something.
Ryan's voice got louder, and I could hear him now.
You need to leave now. He wasn't asking.
Jared hesitated, looking down, then finally put his car in
drive. He pulled away, slowly at first,
then speed up, disappearing into the darkness beyond the parking
lot. Ryan turned and walked back to
me, his face serious. He wrapped an arm around my
shoulders, pulling me close. Let's get you home.
He said. I nodded, grateful he was here.
Megan waved as we got into Ryan's car and soon we were
driving away from the diner. The ride home was quiet.
I kept looking out the window, half expecting to see Jared's
car following us, but it never did.
When we finally got home, I felt like I could breathe again, but
I knew I wouldn't forget this night for a long time.
Something about the way Jared had stayed, just waiting in the
dark, made it hard to feel safe. I hoped I'd never see him again.
I was just getting off my late shift at the hospital.
It had been one of those nights where as soon as I got home, all
I wanted to do was jump in the shower and try to forget the
day. The streets were quiet, quiet in
that way that used to make me feel safe.
I knew this neighbourhood, I had walked these streets hundreds of
times. But on that night, something
felt different. I saw him as I turned down Maple
Street, the guy in the hoodie maybe 100 feet back.
I told myself not to be paranoid, it was probably just
another late night Walker. I kept going, trying to shake
off the uneasy itch in my mind, but every time I picked up my
pace, he did too. Every time I slowed down, he
followed suit, like he was playing some sort of game with
me as his target. I decided to test him.
I stepped suddenly across the street, hoping he'd keep going
straight. But no, he crossed too.
Now my heart was pounding in my chest and I could hear my pulse
in my ears. I was trying hard to remain
calm, but this friendly neighbourhood now felt like a
maze with no way out. I turned down an alley, hoping
it would get me closer to home, possibly lose him.
The alley was dark, with only the faint light from a distant
flickering St. lamp at the end. My footsteps echoed off the
brick walls, and I realized I could hear his too.
He was getting closer. I glanced over my shoulder, just
a glance, but I saw his face, partially hidden by the hood,
his eyes fixed on me. He wasn't just following me, he
was focused, like he had a plan. Panic set in.
I needed somewhere safe with people.
That's when I saw the laundromat.
The lights were on and I could see somebody inside.
I ran inside, trying to act like I belonged there, and grabbed a
bottle of detergent from the shelf.
The place was practically empty. An older woman was sleeping in
the corner, and the guy at the counter hardly looked up from
his phone. I faked looking at the detergent
but kept my eyes on the door. He stopped right outside.
He stood there, staring through the glass, his face
expressionless. My hands were shaking.
I ducked down behind a row of washing machines, my heart
hammering in my chest. I tried to breathe, to think,
but all I could hear were his footsteps as he pushed open the
door and walked in. He was slow, deliberate, like he
knew I was hiding. I couldn't stay there, I knew
it. I had to move.
I took a deep breath and bolted, running past the counter and out
the door and back into the night.
I didn't look back, just ran, my feet pounding on the pavement,
hoping, praying I could lose him.
Corners blurred together in the streets.
I turned without thinking, only trying to put as much distance
between us as possible. When I finally reached my
street, I thought maybe I'd lost him.
But then I saw him standing at the far end of the block, just
waiting. He wasn't out of breath, he
wasn't running. He was just there, watching me.
It was like he knew precisely where I was headed.
I didn't think. I just ran, fumbling with my
keys, throwing open the door and slamming it shut behind me.
I locked it, leaned back against it, trying to catch my breath.
I listened, but all I could hear was the silence of the hallway.
I dashed to my window, peeking through the curtains, but he was
gone. Or maybe he was just out of my
line of sight. That night, I didn't sleep.
I sat by the window, watching out into the darkness, waiting
for any sign of movement. Every little sound made me jump.
My neighbourhood, my safe place. It all felt different now.
The shadows were longer, the quiet was more threatening.
I knew I would never forget that feeling, and I hoped more than
anything that I would never see him again.
I ran up the stairs to my apartment, slamming the door
shut behind me and locking it tight.
My hands were shaking still, and it was like I could hardly catch
my breath. I leaned back against the door,
trying to catch my breath, but my ears strained to hear
anything. Footsteps, a knock, anything.
The hallway outside was quiet, too quiet.
I rushed to the window and pulled aside the curtain,
looking out onto the street below.
It was empty, no sign of him. I tried to tell myself maybe I'd
lost him, maybe he'd given up. But deep inside, I knew he was
still out there somewhere. He hadn't chased me like a
normal person would. He had just walked slowly, like
he knew I'd end up right where he wanted.
I paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do.
I thought about calling the police, but couldn't think of
what I would say. Just that a guy followed me.
He hadn't done anything illegal, hadn't said a word to me.
It seemed like they wouldn't take me seriously.
I felt trapped. I didn't want to overreact, but
I also didn't feel safe. I instinctively reached for my
phone anyway, holding it close, prepared to dial in case I had
to. I sat down by the window,
keeping watch. Minutes felt like hours, and
every little noise outside made me jump.
The wind rustling through the trees, the sound of a car
passing in the distance, the faint bark of a dog.
I continued to wait, praying that I would not see him again.
But just as I started to think maybe it was over, I saw
movement at the end of the street.
There he was, the same hooded guy, standing under the street
light, looking right at my building.
He wasn't moving, just standing there.
My stomach twisted in knots. He knew where I lived, he knew I
was here. It was as if he was waiting for
something, or maybe even daring me to come out again.
I ducked down, my heart hammering in my chest.
I tried to think of what to do next, but my mind felt frozen.
It felt like forever before I looked out again.
He was still there, only now he was closer.
Halfway down the block, he moved slowly toward my building.
I could hardly breathe. I picked up my phone and dialed
911, my fingers shaking as I punched in the numbers.
I told the operator what was happening, trying to speak, but
my voice was shaking. They said they'd send someone
over, but it felt like it was taking forever.
I kept looking out the window, watching as he got closer and
closer. And then, just as suddenly as he
had appeared, he turned and walked away.
He did not run, did not look back, just turned and
disappeared into the shadows. The police arrived a few minutes
later, but by then he was long gone.
I told them everything, but they didn't seem hopeful.
They said they'd patrol the area, but I could tell they
didn't think they'd find him. I didn't sleep at all that
night, only keeping watch and waiting at the window, fearful
he might come back the next day. I changed my route to work so I
would stay in populated areas and was never alone.
But even with all those precautionary changes, deep down
inside I knew I would never feel completely safe again.
Not after that night, not knowing he was still out there
somewhere watching. I don't know who he was or what
he wanted, but I hope I never find out.
And if he's still out there, I hope he'll stay far, far away
'cause I don't think I could go through that again.
I never liked that shed. Even on sunny days it gave me
the creeps. But on rainy days like that
Saturday afternoon, it was even worse.
The sky was Gray and the light drizzle made everything look
darker and gloomier. I pulled my hood up and headed
towards the far end of the property, where the old shed
stood, hidden away by overgrown bushes and surrounded by muddy
grass. I had to mow the lawn, and
unfortunately that meant going into the shed to get the lawn
mower. The shed was old, with wooden
planks that were warped and splintering.
The door always creaked loudly and the hinges were rusted, so
just getting in was a challenge. I fumble with the key, finally
turning the lock and pushing the door open.
It groaned as it swung wide, and a musty smell hit me
immediately. It smelled worse than usual,
like something had been rotting inside.
The air felt thick and heavy, and for a second I thought about
just closing the door and pretending I forgot to mow the
lawn, but I couldn't do that. I took a step inside, trying to
ignore the way the floorboards creaked beneath my feet.
Something didn't feel right, though.
I could feel it deep in my gut, like an invisible weight
pressing down on me. I paused, my eyes scanning the
dark corners of the shed. Then, without really thinking
about it, I looked up. My heart stopped.
There, lying across the wooden planks that made-up the crawl
space above, was a man. He was pressed flat against the
beams, as if he was trying to blend in with the shadows.
His clothes were filthy, covered in stains, and his face was
pale, almost ghostly. His eyes were wide open, staring
right at me. I could see the dirt smudged on
his cheeks, the lines etched into his skin.
He didn't move, didn't blink. He just watched me.
And then I saw it. A glint of something metallic in
his hand. It was a knife.
I felt like my whole body had turned to ice.
I knew I couldn't let him know that I'd seen him if I showed
any fear, if I made any sudden moves.
Who knew what he would do? I forced myself to look away, my
eyes dropping to the lawn mower. My hands were shaking, but I
reached out and grabbed the handle.
I tried to act normal, like everything was fine, but my
heart was pounding so hard I thought he might hear it.
I turned slowly, pulling the lawn mower with me.
Step by step, I moved towards the door.
I could still feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.
It felt like it took forever to get to the door, but finally I
was outside. The moment I was clear, I pulled
the door shut behind me, and then I ran.
I ran as fast as I could, my feet slipping on the wet grass,
my breath coming in short gasps. I didn't stop until I reached my
apartment. I burst through the door,
startling my mom. I grabbed the phone, my fingers
trembling as I dialed 911. I tried to keep my voice steady
as I explained what had happened, but the fear was still
there, making my words come out shaky.
The dispatcher said they'd send someone right away, and all I
could do was wait, staring out the window towards the shed,
wondering if the man was still in there, wondering if he knew I
had called the police. It felt like forever, but
finally I saw the police car pull up.
Two officers got out and I watched as they made their way
towards the shed. I held my breath as they opened
the door and went inside. I couldn't see anything, but I
heard a shout, then a loud crash.
My stomach twisted with fear. What if he tried to fight them?
What if he got away? A few minutes later, the
officers came out, and they weren't alone.
They had the man in handcuffs. His face was twisted in anger,
his clothes even dirtier up close, and I saw the knife one
of the officers was holding. It was long and rusted and just
seeing it made my skin crawl. I watched as they put him in the
back of the police car, and only then did I feel like I could
breathe again. But even as the car drove away,
I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me, the way he had
just been lying there, waiting. I knew I'd never feel safe near
that shed again. After the police took the man
away, I thought the worst was over.
I really wanted to believe that everything would be OK, that I
could forget about what had happened.
But it wasn't that simple. That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his face, those cold,
empty eyes staring down at me. I couldn't stop thinking about
how long he might have been hiding in the shed, watching me
without me knowing. It made my skin crawl just to
think about it. The next morning, I was still on
edge. My mom tried to reassure me,
saying the police had taken care of everything, but I could tell
she was worried too. She offered to call in and tell
my boss that I couldn't work for a few days, but I shook my head.
I didn't want to stay cooped up in the apartment, jumping at
every noise. I needed to feel normal again,
even if it was just for a little while.
Later that day, there was a knock at the door.
My heart skipped a beat, but when I peeked through the
window, I saw it was one of the police officers from yesterday.
I opened the door, and he gave me a small, reassuring smile.
Hey, kid, he said. Just wanted to let you know
everything's going to be all right.
We found some more things in the shed that might help us figure
out what this guy was up to. My stomach twisted again.
What kind of things? I asked, my voice barely above a
whisper. The officer hesitated for a
moment, then said. It looks like he'd been hiding
out there for a while. We found some old blankets,
empty cans, and a few other things.
He had a setup like he'd been living in that crawl space for
weeks, maybe even longer. I swallowed hard, trying to keep
the fear from showing on my face.
The thought of him living there, of him watching us all that
time, it was too much. The officer must have noticed,
because he added quickly, We're going to make sure he doesn't
come back. He's not going to bother you
again. I nodded, but it didn't do much
to make me feel better. After the officer left, I
couldn't stop thinking about it. I kept picturing him up there,
waiting in the dark. What if he had been planning
something? What if I hadn't looked up in
time? The questions swirled around in
my head, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
That evening, my mom and I made a decision.
We couldn't stay here anymore. We packed up our things,
deciding to leave the apartment and stay with my aunt for a
while. As we loaded the car, I glanced
towards the shed one last time. It looked empty, but I still
felt like he was there, hiding in the shadows, just out of
sight. I shivered and turned away,
hoping I'd never have to see that place again.
We drove away that night, and even though I knew we were
putting distance between US and the shed, I still felt like his
eyes were on me. I don't think I'll ever forget
the feeling of being watched, the cold heavy stare of the man
in the shadows. And I knew one thing for sure, I
never wanted to meet him again. It was supposed to be a quiet,
relaxing evening, a simple movie night with an old friend.
I hadn't seen Amanda in months, and the idea of lounging around
in our pyjamas, binge watching old comedies and stuffing
ourselves with junk food sounded like the perfect remedy to shake
off the weak stress. Her apartment was, as I
remembered, small, cluttered with Knick knacks and filled
with a scent that was somehow a mix of vanilla candles and
microwave popcorn. It felt good to be there, to
settle back into the comfort of our shared history.
We were chatting, catching up on everything we'd missed in each
other's lives, when Amanda casually mentioned that Eric
would be delivering dinner. I paused.
Who's Eric? I asked, trying to sound
nonchalant, though a prickling unease started to gnaw at me.
She waved a hand, dismissive. Oh, he's just a guy who helps me
out sometimes. He's bringing the food tonight.
Something about her tone made me uneasy, but I pushed the feeling
down. This was Amanda, If she trusted
him enough to have him over then I could at least be polite.
When Eric arrived I understood why something felt off.
He fumble with the Taco Bell boxes as he stepped into the
apartment, his eyes flickering around the room but never quite
settling on mine. Amanda was overly friendly,
thanking him several times, her tone almost rehearsed.
You're the best Eric. She said with a bright smile and
he just mumbled something back, his face flushed.
There was an awkwardness in the air that clung like a thick fog.
I tried to smile at him, but it felt forced, strained by the
discomfort twisting in my gut. After Eric left, I couldn't help
but ask Amanda what the deal was.
She shrugged, almost defensively, and explained how
Eric helped her run errands, picked up her groceries, and did
little things for her when she was too busy.
He's just helpful, she said, her eyes not quite meeting mine.
There was something in her voice, a hesitance that made me
think she knew as well as I did that this wasn't entirely
normal. I let it drop, but the unease
stayed. It didn't end there.
A few days later, Eric added me to a group chat with Amanda.
He started sending memes. Nothing offensive, just banal
attempts at humor that I politely acknowledged.
Then he began offering to help me with things, errands, tasks,
anything I needed. At first I declined,
uncomfortable with the idea of involving him in my life.
But his offers kept coming and I could feel the pressure
mounting. I didn't want to seem ungrateful
or rude, especially with Amanda in the middle of it all.
Eventually, when I found myself struggling with how to transport
a dresser I'd bought online, I made the mistake of accepting
Eric's help. He was ecstatic, almost too
enthusiastic. He handled everything smoothly,
showing up exactly when he said he would and refusing any
payment when I insisted. He smiled in this strange,
almost self satisfied way and said just come on a hike with me
sometime, that's payment enough. I didn't want to, but his
persistence wore me down. He framed it like it was
nothing, just a friendly outing. The dreads settled in my chest
like a stone. The day of the hike, I told
myself it was fine, that I was overreacting, but every instinct
I had screamed that this wasn't just a casual walk in the woods.
I couldn't shake the feeling that I was making a mistake, a
mistake that I would regret. The day was crisp, clear, the
kind of autumn afternoon that made everything look sharper,
edges more defined, shadows more elongated.
I kept telling myself it was just a hike, but the
apprehension that sat like a lump in my throat refused to
budget when Eric pulled up in his dusty old SUVI, pasted on a
smile that I hoped looked more convincing than it felt.
He greeted me with that same awkward grin, his eyes glancing
over me quickly before looking away.
Ready. He asked, his voice a bit too
eager. I nodded, swallowing the unease.
He opened the passenger door for me and I climbed in, feeling the
cold, stale air inside the vehicle.
The smell of old fast food wrappers and something metallic
lingered in the cabin. I glanced at the back seat.
It was cluttered, filled with tools, ropes and a couple of
tarps, all of which seemed innocent enough, but they still
made my heart skip a beat. We drove mostly in silence, the
radio playing low in the background, some talk show host
rambling on about politics. I tried to focus on the scenery
instead, the Reds and golds of the leaves, the way the sun
filtered through the trees, splashing light across the road.
But every time I looked at Eric, my instincts screamed at me to
get out of the car. He seemed so intent, his eyes
fixed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little too
tightly. We finally reached the
trailhead, a narrow dirt path leading into the thick woods.
I got out, taking a deep breath of fresh air, trying to steady
myself. Eric grabbed a small backpack
from the back, slinging it over his shoulder.
There's a spot I want to show you.
He said, his voice carrying a strange sort of excitement.
I forced a smile and nodded, even though every part of me
wanted to turn and run back to the car.
The hike started off easy enough, the path winding through
the woods, leaves crunching under our feet.
Eric talked about his work, his hobbies, the mundane details of
his life that should have made him seem normal.
But something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes seemed
to dart around, never fully meeting mine, kept me on edge.
He walked ahead of me, his steps a little too quick, as if he was
eager to reach wherever it was we were going.
After about an hour, he stopped, turning to me with that strange
smile again. We should go off the trail here.
He said, pointing to a narrow gap between the trees.
My heart lurched, but I couldn't think of a reason to say no that
wouldn't sound paranoid. Sure, I said, my voice trembling
just slightly. He stepped off the path and I
followed, my stomach churning. The deeper we went, the quieter
it got. The rustle of leaves, the
distant sound of birds, everything seemed to fade away,
replaced by an oppressive silence that made my skin crawl.
Eric moved with purpose, his steps sure like he'd been here
before. I stumbled over roots, branches
scratching at my arms, my unease growing with every step.
Almost there. He said, glancing back at me,
his eyes dark, unreadable. I forced myself to keep going,
my breaths coming shallow, my hands trembling.
We finally reached a small clearing, and Eric stopped,
turning to face me. Look.
He said, pointing to the ground. I followed his gaze, and my
blood ran cold. There, half buried under leaves
and dirt, was a human arm, the skin grey and mottled, fingers
curled as if in agony. I gasped, stumbling back, my
hand flying to my mouth. Eric just stood there, watching
me, his expression calm, almost satisfied.
I wanted to run, to scream, but my body felt frozen, my mind
struggling to process what I was seeing.
Eric took a step closer, and I forced myself to move, to turn
back the way we'd come. We, we need to go.
I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn't argue, he just smiled that strange, knowing smile and
nodded. Sure.
He said, his tone almost amused as we made our way back to the
main trail. I couldn't shake the feeling
that this was some sort of twisted game to him, a test, a
way to see how far he could push me.
My heart pounded in my chest, my eyes darting around, desperate
for any sign of another person. When I finally saw a man in the
distance, I felt a rush of relief so powerful it nearly
brought me to tears. Hey.
I called out, my voice cracking. The man turned, looking
confused, but I didn't care. I needed someone, anyone there
with us. I rushed over, Eric following
behind, silent. I asked the man for directions,
pretending to be lost, and eventually he agreed to walk us
back to the parking lot. When we finally reached the
cars, I called Amanda, my voice shaking as I told her we'd be
back soon. I wanted her to know where I
was, who I was with. Eric didn't say much on the
drive back, and when we reached Amanda's apartment, I got out as
quickly as I could, my legs trembling.
Amanda and I thanked Eric, sending him on his way, and the
moment the door closed behind him, I collapsed onto the couch,
my body shaking. I told Amanda everything, my
voice breaking as I described the arm, the look on Eric's
face, the way he'd just stood there, watching me.
She listened, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror.
We need to get rid of him. She said, her voice barely a
whisper. I nodded, knowing she was right.
Whatever this was, whatever Eric was hiding, it was dangerous,
and we needed to get away from it, from him.
I remember the first day I moved into that old house with my
daughter, Emily. She was only 6 and I wanted so
badly to make this place a home for us.
It was a tall three story building, creaky and old, but it
had character. We rented the top floor and the
first floor was occupied by an elderly couple, Mr. and Missus
Thompson. They were nice enough, always
smiling and waving when we passed by.
They had a son named Greg who had just moved back in with
them. They said he was going through a
rough time, but they assured me he was harmless.
At first, Greg seemed OK. He was a bit awkward, but I
thought that was just because he was shy.
He would knock on my door sometimes, asking if I had any
sugar or a cigarette. He always seemed a little
distracted, his eyes darting around like he was looking for
something. It was strange, but I didn't
think too much of it. I just wanted to focus on
settling in and making the place feel safe for Emily.
But things started to get weird. Gregg began knocking on my door
late at night. It wasn't just for Sugar or a
cigarette any more. Sometimes he would just stand
there staring at me without saying a word.
His eyes looked hollow, like he wasn't really seeing me.
It made me uncomfortable and I started avoiding him whenever I
could. Eventually, Mr. and Missus
Thompson told me they had asked Gregg to leave.
They said he needed more help than they could give him and it
wasn't safe for him to stay. I felt relieved when he left,
like maybe things would go back to normal, but they didn't.
Little things started disappearing.
My favorite scarf, a bracelet my mom had given me a few dollars
from my purse. I thought I was just being
forgetful, but it kept happening.
Then I noticed the kitchen knife was missing.
I tried to tell myself I had misplaced it, but I knew that
wasn't true. The uneasy feeling in my stomach
grew stronger every day. I felt like I was being watched,
like there was someone else in the house with us, even when I
knew we were alone. One hot summer afternoon, I was
home alone. My car was in the shop, so it
looked like no one was there. I decided to take a quick shower
while Emily was at her friend's house.
I was just rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when I heard it,
the creak of the back door opening.
My heart stopped. I turned off the water, standing
there frozen, listening. I could hear slow, deliberate
footsteps coming up the stairs. They stopped right outside the
bathroom door. I held my breath, my whole body
trembling. Then, after what felt like
forever, the footsteps slowly retreated.
I stayed there, frozen in the shower, until I was sure the
house was silent again. I tried to convince myself that
it was just my imagination, but deep down I knew something was
wrong. I could feel it, and the worst
part was I had no idea what was coming next.
The days that followed felt like a blur.
I tried my best to ignore the strange feelings and just focus
on Emily, but it was getting harder to pretend everything was
OK. There were times I would catch a
whiff of something strange, an odd musty smell that made the
hairs on my neck stand up. It would come and go, and I
could never find the source. Sometimes the basement door
would be open just a crack when I knew I had closed it.
I felt like I was losing my mind, but I kept telling myself
it was all in my head. One night, after Emily had gone
to bed, I heard something that made my blood run cold.
It was a soft, muffled cough coming from somewhere beneath
the floor. My heart pounded in my chest as
I tiptoed around, trying to find where the sound had come from.
I went down to the basement, but it was empty.
Nothing seemed out of place, but I could feel something.
Something wrong. I went back upstairs, my heart
still racing, and tried to shake off the fear.
I told myself it must have been the wind, or maybe even a stray
cat, but I knew that wasn't true.
Everything changed the day the landlord came by for an
inspection. I remember he looked around the
house, checking the windows and the pipes.
Then he went down to the basement.
A few minutes later, I heard him call out, his voice shaky.
I rushed to the basement door, and that's when I heard the
noise, shuffling like someone was moving quickly through the
darkness. I grabbed a flashlight and
hurried down the stairs. The landlord was standing there,
his face pale, pointing towards the far corner of the basement.
I followed his gaze, my heart pounding.
There, in the shadows, I saw movement, a figure darting
between the old boxes and furniture.
It was Greg. He looked wild, his eyes wide
and frantic. Before I could react, he lunged
at the landlord, knocking him over, and then ran past me,
disappearing out the basement door.
The police were called and they searched the neighborhood.
After what felt like hours, they found Greg hiding behind a
dumpster down the street. They took him away and I thought
it was finally over, but when they searched the basement they
found something that made my stomach turn.
Behind a stack of old furniture, Greg had made a hiding spot for
himself. A filthy mattress, blankets, and
some of my missing things. There were empty food wrappers,
pieces of my clothing, and the missing kitchen knife.
The worst part was the camera. It was an old beat up digital
camera that Greg had left behind.
On it were dozens of pictures. Pictures of me taken through the
windows. Pictures of me sleeping.
He had been watching us for weeks, sneaking into our home
while we slept. The thought made my skin crawl.
I felt violated, terrified, like my home would never be safe
again. The police told me the charges
against Greg were dropped. They said they were making a
deal, trying to get information on other crimes.
It didn't make me feel any better.
All I wanted was to keep Emily safe.
I packed up our things and we moved away as soon as we could,
but even now, I can't shake the feeling that Gregg is still out
there somewhere, watching. The nightmare might be over, but
the fear will never go away. I first met Alex on a school
field trip to the Art Museum. It was one of those trips where
everyone was excited to get out of campus.
I, on the other hand, was more interested in seeing the
paintings and sculptures. I loved art, it was my passion,
and this trip was like a dream come true.
We had just gotten off the bus when I saw him.
Tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to
take in everything. He stood off to the side,
sketching in a small notebook. I was drawn to him.
He was the stranger in our school, bearing that quiet,
mysterious air about him. My friends were laughing and
chattering, but my attention strayed to him.
He was drawing very fast, confident strokes when our
teacher told us to get into pairs with someone for the
project. I did stand there for a moment,
my heart hammering, before I approached him.
Hey, I'm Emma, want a partner up?
I asked, trying to sound casual. He looked up, his eyes meeting
mine. There was something about the
way he smiled, a kind of charm that made my heart skip a beat.
Sure. He said, his voice calm and
smooth. I'm Alex.
We walked around the museum discussing the paintings and I
was so surprised at his deep knowledge regarding the arts.
He had been clever, funny and a really good listener.
By the end of the trip, I felt like we'd known each other
forever. Just before boarding the bus
back, he handed me something, an origami rose.
I opened it and inside was his number, written in tiny, neat
letters. I couldn't help but smile.
For the next two weeks, Alex and I were joined at the hip.
We texted until early in the morning, laughing and swapping
jokes and stories. We sat together in class, and
during lunch we'd hang out in The Art Room, just the two of
us. I felt like I could be myself
around him, and I loved how he seemed to understand me in a way
that no one else did. I was falling for him, and it
all seemed too perfect. But then things started to feel
off. It began with small things, such
as him always refusing when I would ask him to hang out
outside of school. No matter what I suggested, the
movies, the park, even a group outing with my friends, his
answer was always the same. No, I can't.
He never explained why, and I started to feel uneasy.
And then there were the conversations.
Sometimes Alex would ask me questions, personal questions,
and just as I was about to answer, he'd cut in with
something else, something even more intrusive.
What are you doing this weekend? He'd ask, and before I could
answer, he'd cut in with Have you ever been in love?
It made me uncomfortable, but I told myself I was overthinking
it. That night, lying in my bed, I
got a text from Alex. I had a dream about you, it
said. I shivered, thinking nothing of
it. Then I asked him what the dream
was about, thinking it would be sweet.
But the messages proceeding to that made my skin crawl.
He said things, intimate and aggressive, things that seemed
disgusting to me, Sickening. I couldn't believe what I was
reading. This wasn't the Alex I knew.
My hands were shaking as I blocked his number.
My heart was racing. All I ever wanted was to just
forget, go back to a time when it never happened.
But the following day, I learned from a friend that Alex had
posted pictures on social media, pictures of girls who looked
just like me. The captions were vague but
threatening, and I felt a shiver run deep under my skin.
I began to see him everywhere around the school, always
watching, always waiting. Every time I turned a corner, it
felt like he was there, following me with his eyes.
And finally, when he announced he was moving to New York, a
weight was lifted off my shoulders.
I thought it was over, but deep down I knew the fear he planted
inside of me would never truly leave me.
I thought I could finally breathe again when Alex said he
was moving to New York. For a while, I almost convinced
myself that things would get back to normal.
I even started to feel a little hopeful, like maybe I could put
all the weirdness behind me. But then the messages started.
It was a hot Saturday afternoon and I was in the park with my
friends trying to spend a day not thinking about Alex.
My phone started buzzing. I pulled it out, thinking it was
probably a text from my mom, but no, it was a message from a
number I didn't even recognize. I like that blue dress on you.
My heart sank. I looked around, scanning faces
in the park, but didn't see anyone I knew.
My friends noticed me getting quiet and just acted like it was
nothing important, but that feeling of unease had settled
into my chest like a stone. The messages kept coming.
They were always from different numbers, and each one made it
clear that Alex was still watching me.
The park is a nice place to spend a Saturday, isn't it?
One read, another said. What did you have for lunch?
I bet it was the burger. He seemed to know everything I
was doing, where I was and who I was with.
It felt like no matter where I went, Alex was there, hiding,
watching. I deleted all my social media
accounts. I changed my phone number.
I even managed to convince my parents that we should move to a
new town. They thought it was because I
wanted a fresh start after high school, and I let them believe
that I couldn't tell them the truth.
I couldn't let them know how scared I was.
The thought of Alex following me, of him knowing where I
lived, was more than I could handle.
But even after we moved, the messages didn't stop.
They came late at night from untraceable e-mail addresses.
The messages were just as disturbing as before, sometimes
describing the things he wanted to do to me, other times just
talking about what I had done that day like he was still
watching. Did you like the coffee you had
this morning? One e-mail asked.
I'd get heart palpitations each time I opened my inbox and I
started being terrified of even checking my phone.
He even went to the extent of making fake profiles in order to
get in touch with my friends and family in an attempt to find out
where I was. I was so isolated now, scared
that any relation of mine might give away my location.
I stopped talking to my old friends, scared they might give
something away without realizing it.
I felt so alone, like no one could understand what I went
through. For three long years, the
nightmare persisted. My heart would jump into my
throat every time my phone buzzed.
Every unexpected knock on the door sent me into a panic.
I couldn't relax, couldn't trust anyone.
I was overcome with stress and fear, and I felt like I was
beginning to lose myself. I hardly went out, and when I
did, I was constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to
see Alex's face in the crowd. Then one day, it all ceased.
The messages just stopped, the fake profiles went down, and
there were no more emails. It was as though Alex had
vanished. Slowly, I began to breathe
again. I went to college, got new
friends and even found someone to love, got married, started a
job, and began to feel like myself again.
But no matter how much time passes, the fear never really
leaves. Sometimes I still feel his eyes
on me, even if he's not there. I live with the memory of Alex
and hope that our paths will never cross again, but knowing
that the fear he left behind will always be part of me.
This was late autumn of 2017. That crisp, biting pre winter
chill had taken hold of the air and a thick mist enveloped
Tennessee. I lived on the outskirts of town
in one of those newly built apartment complexes and running
through the nights was what I did to unwind.
The streets were quiet and almost empty, which suited me
just fine. It made me feel free, as though
I had the whole world to myself. I slipped out that night around
9. The mist was heavy, and
everything seemed to be veiled in a haze that was somehow
dreamlike. I plugged in my earbuds, turned
my music on, and let the rhythm of my footsteps carry me along.
My usual route took me down the quieter streets, past Briarwood
Park and an old graveyard beyond its borders.
The park always felt eerie after dark, but I liked the feeling of
mystery that came with it. The way the fog curled around
the trees, the silence that settled in as I ran by.
It was like another world. I was making my way up to the
graveyard entrance when I saw something strange.
There was someone standing beside the rusty iron gates.
A person, I should say. I slowed to a stop and yanked
out my earbuds. The music filtered into the
stillness of the night. It was difficult to see very
clearly due to the mist, but it was small.
It wasn't moving. I took a few steps closer and my
heart suddenly started pounding faster.
It was a girl, probably 10 or 11 years old.
She was in a thin nightgown, her hair dishevelled and her feet
bare. She looked so out of place,
standing there in the cold with tears streaming down her face.
Her eyes were wide with fear, and she kept glancing over her
shoulder into the darkness of the graveyard.
The iron gate creaked slightly as she clung to it, her knuckles
white. I felt a shiver that had nothing
to do with the cold. Something wasn't right about
this scene. I hesitated, but took another
step closer. Hey, are you OK?
I called out, trying to keep my tone light and friendly.
The girl slowly turned toward me, her eyes locking onto mine,
and for a moment she just stared.
Then, wordless, she flung herself at me and her little
arms went round my waist. Her fingers were ice cold and
she was shaking. Please help me, she whispered,
the shake in her voice so bad it was barely audible.
She kept looking back at the graveyard, her eyes wide with
terror. I could feel my heart racing
now. Something was very wrong.
I pulled out my phone, fingers shaking as I dialed 911.
It's all right, I told her. I'm calling the police, they'll
help you. But the moment I said it, the
girl transformed. Her tears ceased, Her eyes
narrowed. Her grasp on my arm tightened,
and I winced at the sudden pressure.
No police, she said, her voice suddenly deeper, almost
unnatural. I stared at her, my stomach
twisting in fear. Her face, once scared and
vulnerable, now looked angry, almost threatening.
I tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron.
Hey, it's OK, I started to say, but then she let out a scream.
A scream so loud and so strange that it felt like it was echoing
inside my head. It wasn't just her voice, it was
like there were many voices all screaming at once, layered on
top of each other. It sent shivers through my very
being, and I stumbled backward, my phone falling from my grasp.
Before I could do a single thing, she released my arm and
turned, dashing right through the graveyard, her bare feet
silent. She was like a spirit on the
frozen ground. In seconds, she was gone,
swallowed up by the darkness between the gravestones.
I just stood there, frozen as my heart pounded in my ears.
The graveyard was silent now, swirling around the tombstones.
The fog seemed to dance. The air felt heavy, as if even
the wind was holding its breath. I wanted to cry out to her, but
my voice caught in my throat. Something told me I did not want
to know what was in that darkness.
Panic set in and I turned and ran.
I ran through the mist as fast as my legs could carry me.
It blurred everything around me. I didn't stop until I reached
the main road where passing cars seemed to bring me some sense of
safety with their lights. I bent over, trying to catch my
breath while my mind was racing. Who was that girl?
What just happened, and why did I feel like I had just narrowly
escaped something terrible? One thing was sure, I was never
running that route again, and I hoped more than anything that I
would never see that girl again. Whatever she was, I didn't want
to find out. I couldn't fall asleep that
night. Each time I shut my eyes I saw
her face, those huge frightened eyes that turned angry so
quickly I could not stop from hearing that scream in my head
over and over again. It was like some horrible chorus
which I couldn't get away from. I tossed and turned until
finally giving up. With my heart still racing, I
threw off the covers and in the darkness paced up and down my
small apartment, trying to shake the unease that had settled deep
in my bones. When the sun finally rose, I
felt exhausted. The morning light had seemed to
drive some of the fear away, but I knew it was still there, lying
just under the surface. That day, I went through all my
classes, sat through lectures, and even met up with some
friends for lunch. But I just couldn't focus.
Her face kept flashing before my eyes, that scream still echoing
in my mind. My friends saw that I was
distracted, but I just said I hadn't slept.
Well, it wasn't a lie. That evening I thought about
going for another run just to clear my head, but something
about running past Briarwood Park, past that graveyard, made
my stomach twist in fear. I knew there was no way I could
do that, not yet anyway. Maybe never.
But instead I entered, locked the door, and double checked it
before sitting down on the couch.
I turned the television on to try and get my mind off things
with some mindless show, but nothing seemed to help.
A few days passed, but the fear didn't recede.
I avoided that part of town completely.
I took different routes to class, made sure I was never
anywhere near Briarwood Park. I stopped running altogether.
Being out in the dark, all alone with nothing but the mist and
silence was too much. I couldn't shake the feeling
that something was still out there waiting for me.
I started to have nightmares in them.
I was always back in the graveyard, standing at the
rusted iron gates. The mist was thicker than it had
ever been. I could hardly see my hand in
front of me. I could hear something though, a
whispering coming from the darkness.
I'd call out and then I'd see her.
The girl standing among the gravestones, her eyes wide and
hollow. She would begin to screech, that
terrible multi tonal sound and I'd awaken, heart pounding,
soaked with sweat. One night I was woken up by the
sound of rustling outside my window.
It was very low, sounding as if someone moved through the
bushes. My heart jumped into my throat
and I lay there, now, rigid, listening to it.
The rustling ceased and for a moment everything was deathly
silent. Then I heard it.
A low whispering voice just outside the glass.
I couldn't make out the words, but I recognized that voice.
She's the girl from the graveyard.
Panic washed over me as I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone.
My hands were shaking so much I could hardly dial, but I did
manage to get the number of a friend who lived just down the
road from me. I didn't tell her what was
happening, just that I needed to come over.
I needed to get out. I needed to be somewhere safe.
I didn't sleep that night either, and sitting on my
friend's couch, looking out the window at the darkness, one
thing was for sure, I wasn't imagining it.
She was real.