But I’m sure I’m right.
Eyeing him, I pick up my phone, stand directly in front of the window, and put the phone to my ear. I haven’t even dialed the police yet; I just want to see what he’ll do.
Because evidently, there’s something wrong with me.
I’m playing with fire. The more I provoke him, the more likely he is to come after me. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the sharp thrill that I get every time I push back.
It’s as addicting as it is stupid.
I can’t see his face under the deep hood, but I know he’s smiling at me. Knowing that doesn’t give me the reaction it should. I should be repulsed. I should be scared. I suppose I am scared, but what I’m really feeling is the urge to smile back.
My phone chimes in my ear. Brow plunging, I hesitantly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the incoming message.
UNKNOWN: Am I supposed to believe that you’re on the phone with the police? I think my little mouse is a liar.
Oh, no, he didn’t.
I angrily type back my message.
ME: Want to find out?
UNKNOWN: Yeah, I do, actually. I’d love to punish you later for it, too.
My thumbs freeze over the letters. The last punishment was gruesome and sickening.
ME: What, you gonna send me toes next?
UNKNOWN: Depends, are you still pretending to fuck other guys? Or would you rather yell at the ghosts in your house again?
My head snaps up and I stare into the depths of his hood. His phone is perched in his hand, waiting for my response. The lighting from his phone is set to low, the dim glow casting enough light to show me his wickedly sharp jawline and a portion of his smirking lips.
I lift my hand and flip him the bird.
Fuck you, asshole.
In response, his thumb starts moving, his smile growing wider.
UNKNOWN: I plan to.
I growl at his audacity. Like hell, he’ll fuck me.
ME: You come near me, I will stab you. I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now.
UNKNOWN: So do it, little mouse.
I can’t tell if he’s telling me to stab him or call. I’d be happy to do both. I don’t like his insinuation that I’m the mouse and he’s the cat. That would mean he’s hunting me. The last thing I want to be is hunted.
Fuck. I hesitate. I need to call the police. I have to. But I can’t convince my fingers to move. He’s challenging me, and I hate that I’m scared to find out what he’s going to do if I do. I hate that I want to.
Heart pounding, I dial the numbers. He watches me closely as I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
I breathe in deep.
“There’s a man that’s been stalking me. He broke into my house a week ago. And now he’s standing outside watching me.”
“He’s standing outside right now?” the operator asks. I hear typing in the background, accompanied by the smack of her gum.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Ma’am, is he doing anything? Does he have any weapons on him?” she asks.
“Not that I know of. Can you send someone out?”
More typing. “What’s your address, ma’am?”
I recite the address to her. She asks a few more pointless questions and informs me a cruiser is about five minutes out. She asks me to stay on the phone, but I don’t.
I click the phone off. My little shadow isn’t going to stick around long enough for the police to show up and catch him. He’ll disappear off into the woods he came out of, and never be found. I know this.
I can’t see his eyes, but I meet his gaze anyway. With one last smile, he types out a quick message. My phone buzzes, but I don’t look right away.
I’m too scared to.
And without a concern in the fucking world, he slowly turns and walks away. The darkness reaches out and grabs ahold of him, swallowing him into its depths until he’s vanished completely.
When the cruiser shows up, I already want him to leave. For reasons I can’t quite explain, I regret calling the police. I just… want him to leave.
The cop is an overweight man with short blonde hair and a ruddy face. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
I feel the same exact way.
“What’s going on here, ma’am?” he asks, huffing and puffing as he makes his way up the front porch.
“A man was outside my window,” I say shortly.
“O-okay,” he says, drawing out the O. “Has this happened before?”
I tell him that I’ve made several police reports that came up missing, but that this man has been coming around and breaking into my house for the past couple of months. After telling him of the previous experiences, he pulls out his pad and starts writing out the report.
“You said your name was Adeline Reilly, correct?”
“Yes.”
He pauses from writing and looks at me as if he’s seeing a different person.
“Aren’t you the one that had Archibald Talaverra go missing off your porch?” he asks, looking me up and down, pausing on my chest for a second too long, as if my tits are going to give him the answer.
“Yes,” I bite out, growing impatient.
He hums in response and goes back to writing his report.
“You think it was the same guy?”
“It’d be pretty fucked if it wasn’t,” I mutter. When the cop just side-eyes me, I sigh. “Yes, I do.”
He stops writing after that and asks me a few more customary questions. Do you have a description, do you know who he might be, and so on. I give him all the information I have, except what’s most important.
I don’t tell him about the text messages. I don’t know why, but they feel… private. Which is fucking stupid. Makes no sense, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. The police officer leaves with absolutely no helpful information. But he still leaves with a police report, and that’s what’s important.
It’s not until after I take a hot shower and settle into my bed that I read his message.
UNKNOWN: The more you disobey me, the harder your punishment.
“I’m going to find this little dick prick,” Daya declares angrily, practically slamming the keys through her laptop as she types god knows what. I just finished telling her the details of last night.
I take a sip of my drink. It’s not enough, so I take another. And then end up chugging the whole thing.
We’re both doing our respective work, but she didn’t want to leave me alone in the house now that my shadow is starting to interact more.
“Dick and prick are the same thing,” I say. She looks up, her face reflecting my exact thoughts since last night. What is wrong with you?
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m just saying. You just called him a little dick dick.”
She rolls her eyes, ignores me, and starts typing on her laptop again. Probably hacking into something. Though I can’t imagine what she could possibly be hacking into. Better not be my phone. I have nudes on there.
My face pales. Oh, god, what if he hacks into it and finds them? I scramble to pick up my phone, delete every single racy picture, and then delete them a second time from the Trash folder.
Some of my anxiety eases, but not all of it. He could’ve already hacked into it for all I know.