Mom sent me to therapy specifically for my fascination with gory horror movies. She thought I was a psychopath. And really, I just get off on being scared.
I think it’s a step up from being a psycho, but the therapist disagreed.
Too often, I’d hear my mother telling my father that I was a freak. That something was wrong with me. No one in their right mind likes being scared.
But I do.
I love it.
Which is why having a stalker is the worst thing for someone like me. I’m susceptible to enjoying the fear a bit too much. My love for horror is going to get me killed one day. It’s like I was meant to be hunted.
Little mouse.
That name is going to haunt me.
I’m not prey. I’m not.
“Satan’s Affair is coming to town again, and they have new haunted houses,” Daya reminds, bringing me back to the present.
Satan’s Affair is a traveling fair that comes to town every year, staying for two nights before moving on to the next town. They set up loads of haunted houses and thrill rides. Daya and I go every year religiously.
After the first few years, the haunted houses became predictable. Since then, they change them every year, and now the traveling fair has some of the best haunted houses in the country.
“You already know I’ll be the first one in line.”
“Yeah, we know, freak,” she teases. Despite the fact that it used to be my mother’s favorite slur, I don’t let it bother me anymore.
Plenty of men have called me the same, followed up by desperate begging to fuck me again. Being a freak took on a whole new meaning a long time ago. I tend to enjoy the name now.
Daya leaves once we confirm plans for the fair night. It’s not for another few weeks, but the event has garnered a loyal fanbase and sells out every year. It got to the point where so many people would come, they had to limit the number allowed in.
They treat it like a concert to avoid lines forming outside the fairgrounds. Once tickets sell out, you won’t be able to enter. Luckily, I have a computer genius on my side, and she gets tickets for us before they even go live.
The moment the door clicks shut behind Daya, my phone buzzes. Thinking it’s Daya texting me that she forgot something, I slide my phone out and open the message without registering who it is.
The second I see the text, my heart drops.
UNKNOWN: Ready for your punishment, little mouse?
I look up and storm over to the window. He’s not standing outside. Daya is just now pulling out of the driveway and speeding off, her taillights disappearing through the trees.
I turn around, nervous he found another way inside my home. Or that he’s already in the house with me and has been the entire time.
ME: Why are you doing this?
His text doesn’t come through right away. I wait with bated breath, and when I realize I’m glaring at my phone, I nearly throw it across the room. He’s probably making me wait on purpose.
Finally, my phone buzzes. I force myself to wait a minute before opening it, just to spite him.
UNKNOWN: You haunt me. It’s only fair I return the sentiment.
I swallow, nervous energy coursing through me as I decide how to respond.
UNKNOWN: You’re so beautiful when you’re scared.
I drop the phone. Embarrassed and praying he didn’t see my blunder, I look out the window again. Still not there.
Where the fuck is he?
As if reading my thoughts, another text comes in.
UNKNOWN: I’m so close, I can smell you.
My hands tremble as I read his text over and over again. The words begin to blur as panic sets in. He’s here in my house somewhere. I run over to the kitchen, grab my handy dandy knife and storm back into the living room.
He hasn’t come out yet, but I imagine he will.
Heart racing and hands shaking, I perch myself on the edge of the rocking chair, sealing my fate.
ME: Quit being a pussy and come out then.
The second the message shoots off, I regret it. I want to snatch it back.
Footsteps sound from above me. I swallow and look up as if I’ll be able to see through the ceiling and spot him. The footsteps travel further away from me, towards my room.
My phone buzzes.
UNKNOWN: Come find me.
At this exact moment, I’m questioning my sanity. Without thought, my ass lifts off the seat and I take a single step towards the staircase. My instincts are to run towards the danger, not away.
God? Me again. We really need to talk about your life decisions when you made me.
I’m not even sure I believe in Her, but if She is real, then someone needs to smack Her hand for making me the way that I am.
Thankfully, common sense kicks in, and I stop myself from going up and finding a crazed man in my house. The smart thing would be to call the police.
There’s no way he’d be able to get out without being seen. The only way out of this house is down the steps. He can’t hide forever. At this point, I don’t even care if the officer can’t catch him. As long as someone else has proof that they saw him, too, that’ll be enough for them to take me seriously.
Another buzz.
UNKNOWN: Too scared, little mouse?
As if challenging me, a door slams shut. I startle from the noise, my heart jumping up into my throat. Even if I wanted to scream, I wouldn’t have been able to make a sound.
My chest pumps erratically as the fear grows more potent.
ME: I’m calling the police.
I can feel the judgment through the walls. Here I am, calling him a pussy and challenging him to come out. Then when the tables turn, I threaten to call the police.
Because that’s the smart thing to do, dumbass.
Then why the fuck do I feel so stupid for saying it? How is that possible?
UNKNOWN: Do you remember what I said last time?
How could I forget? The more I disobey him, the harder the punishment. I bite my lip, seriously contemplating going upstairs and finding him. I release a shaky breath.
I have a choice to make, and I already know I’m going to make the wrong one.
I resign myself and start typing.
ME: Here I come, asshole.
I keep my phone clutched in one hand and the knife in the other. No way am I going to be an idiot again and drop the knife. It’s staying firmly planted in my grip, just like it’ll be firmly planted in this dude’s face once I find him.
I make my way up the steps quietly. Though I’m not sure it really matters if he hears me coming or not. I have a dreadful feeling that even though I’m coming to find him, he’s going to find me first.
That familiar heady feeling settles in my gut. It churns like alcohol in an empty stomach. Sweat breaks across my forehead, and my mouth feels like I swallowed sand.
I’m fucking terrified.
A row of sconces on each side of the hallway provides just enough light to see that no one is there. I click the flashlight on my phone and start in the first room.
I slowly make my way into each room, checking immediately to my left and right before entering any further. I check behind the doors and in every corner of the room.
The closet is the worst part. Opening the door and knowing that I may come face to face with a man.
A man that wants to punish me.
Tears gather in my eyes when I discover the first closet empty. My poor heart is suffering from extreme palpitations right now. I don’t think this amount of fear in my bloodstream is healthy.