Someone's Watching You


Initially, it was a feeling. A shiver at the back of Olivia's neck as she walked home from the train station. The same route she'd walked for years. But lately, things were not right. The streetlights were less bright. The houses in the block were lifeless, their windows vacant eyes.

She told herself it was paranoia. Stress at work. Lack of sleep. But the feeling did not go away. It grew stronger. In the evenings, shadows moved too far into the corners of her apartment. The creak of the old floorboards sounded heavier, like footsteps she could not see.

Then, the messages started.

The first was in bold, jagged letters on a note pushed under her door: I see you.

Olivia's stomach twisted. She reread the note, air in her lungs icing over. It was most likely a joke. One of her friends with a sick sense of humor. Yet a portion of her told her it wasn't a joke.

 Later that night, she double-locked the doors. Pulled the curtains all the way shut. Left a knife under her pillow. There was no way to sleep. Any sound was a threat.

The second note arrived three nights later, inside her apartment this time. 

You can't hide………..

Olivia's hand shook as she clutched the note. She hadn't opened her door to anyone. Never left her door unlocked. Her mind wheeled through theories. A break-in? A spy camera? Someone trailing her, closer than she would ever have imagined?

She called the police. They came, searched the apartment, found nothing. No break-in. No fingerprints. Only Olivia, spiraling into fear.

"A friend with a key?" the officer theorized, his incredulous tone knotting her stomach.

"No one has a key," she whispered.

By the time they left, her apartment was a jail cell. She was not secure. Not here. Not anywhere.

She was awake that evening with every light blazing, her phone clutched in her hand. She stared at the door, confused.

And then it happened.

A gentle scraping against the window.

She turned about, catch of breath locked in her throat. The window was closed, locked. But on the outside of the glass, something was moving. A shadow. A shape gliding through the night.

Her heart pounding, she reached for her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed 911. But before the call could go through, her bedroom door creaked open.

The window was just a distraction.

The danger had already gotten inside.

A tall figure stepped into the light. Black clothes. A mask on their face.

Olivia's scream was never made before everything faded to black.

When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't in her apartment.

She was in a small, cold room. No windows. No door.

And on the wall in front of her, stuck there, was a last message:

I don't just watch. I take.