Chapter 3: Stalked in Aisles and Shadows

It was back—same spot, same weird symbol. My stomach dropped. Was she trying to mess with me, or was someone else involved now? I pressed my palm to the wall, heart pounding.

What scared me even more was the feeling I was being followed. It started as a prickling at the back of my neck, a sense that eyes were on me wherever I went. I tried to brush it off, but it only got worse. My skin was crawling.

I’m extremely sensitive to people’s stares—if someone looks at me two seconds too long, my whole body gets prickly. I’d always been that way. Crowds made my skin crawl. Even at work, I kept my cubicle walls high and my headphones on. Out here, it was supposed to be different. But now, I felt more exposed than ever. I wanted to disappear.

That’s why I bought a three-bedroom apartment in a new suburb—there aren’t many residents, so not many people to stare at me. I’d paid extra for privacy. The model home had promised “peace and quiet.” But now, it felt like everyone in the building was watching me. I hated it.

But these past couple of days, whether I was coming home from work or going grocery shopping, I felt like I was being flayed alive by all the subtle glances around me. I kept my head down, but it didn’t help. The feeling only got stronger.

I clenched the Walmart bag in my hand and hurried past the construction site toward the supermarket. The site was noisy, dust swirling in the air, making my eyes water. I just wanted to get my groceries and get home.

The moment I saw the cashier, my nerves finally relaxed. The bright lights, the familiar beeping of the register—it felt safe, at least for a moment. I smiled weakly at the cashier, hoping she didn’t notice my shaking hands. I almost let out a sigh of relief.

But that sense of safety didn’t last ten minutes before I felt watched again. It started with a prickling on my arms, like static electricity. I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone right behind me. My heart stuttered.

I steadied myself, pretended to browse the shelves for a while, then suddenly turned around. I grabbed a jar of pickles, trying to look casual, then spun on my heel, heart pounding. I felt ridiculous, but I had to know.

Sure enough, I locked eyes with a pair of cloudy eyes that didn’t have time to look away. He was leaning against the freezer case, arms crossed, staring at me like I was on display. His eyes were dull, almost lifeless, but they pinned me in place. My mouth went dry.

It was a man in a sweat-stained undershirt, his teeth yellow as dirt, and a deep dent in his forehead. I recognized him instantly—the same guy who picked up the takeout, the one who always seemed to be lurking nearby. He looked like trouble, plain and simple.

He was a worker from the nearby construction site. I’d seen him a few times before on my way home. Always by the dumpsters, always staring. Never smiled, just watched.

He whistled at me. The sound was low, mocking. My skin crawled. I tightened my grip on the pickles, ready to use them as a weapon if I had to. Disgust rolled through me.

I instinctively stepped back two paces, trying to glare back as calmly as I could. I wanted to look brave, but my knees felt weak. I squared my shoulders, trying to make myself look bigger. Don’t show fear.

But then, the three men around him all gave me a brazen, predatory look. They were clustered near the end of the aisle, laughing quietly among themselves. When they saw me looking, their smiles turned mean. I felt trapped, like a rabbit surrounded by wolves. My stomach twisted.

It felt like I was some item waiting to be sold. I remembered stories my mom used to tell me—warnings about men who looked at women like that. My stomach twisted with fear and anger. I wanted to run, but my feet felt glued to the floor.

I wanted to curse them out, but I saw that man spit a wad of phlegm on the ground and walk toward me. The sound was wet and ugly, echoing in the quiet aisle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off me. Disgust and fear tangled in my gut.

“Hey, miss, all alone? Want to grab a burger together?” His voice was rough, almost mocking. The words made my skin crawl. I wanted to scream, but I knew that would only make things worse. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

The words caught in my throat. I knew if I got tangled up with him, things would spiral out of control, so I quickly turned, grabbed a jar of pickles, and hurried away. My hands shook. Just keep moving, I told myself.

After paying, I ran straight back to my building, not daring to look back. Only after double-locking my door did I collapse onto the couch. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. I was safe—for now.

I slammed the door, threw the locks, then slid down to the floor, breathing hard. The silence of my apartment felt like a blessing. I hugged my knees to my chest, shaking. I tried to tell myself I was okay, but my body wouldn’t stop trembling.

I took deep breaths to calm down, then grabbed my phone and called my brother:

“Hey, I think my neighbor sent someone to watch me. Can you come stay with me for a while?” My voice sounded small, even to me. I felt desperate.

My brother picked up on the first ring. “What happened?” I told him everything, voice shaking. He didn’t ask questions, just said, “I’ll be there after work. Don’t open the door for anyone.” Relief washed over me.

Hearing his voice calmed me down a little. I knew he’d show up, baseball bat in hand, ready to take on the world for me. That’s just the kind of brother he was. For the first time all week, I felt like maybe things would be okay.

A weight lifted off my shoulders, and a wave of exhaustion hit me. My vision went black. I barely made it to the couch before everything went fuzzy. My limbs felt heavy, like I was underwater.

I woke up again to the sound of an alarm blaring in my ear.

Beeeeep—

It was shrill, relentless, making my head pound. I sat up, disoriented, trying to remember where I was. Then I heard it again—closer this time. Panic shot through me.

I know that sound well—it’s the alarm that goes off when you enter the wrong code on the keypad lock for my front door. I’d set it up myself, programmed every code. No one else should know it. The thought made my blood run cold. Who was out there?

And only my front door has a password lock. The neighbors all had regular deadbolts. I’d paid extra for the security. Now, I wondered if it was enough. My heart hammered in my chest.

I shivered, grabbed my hammer, and walked to the door. My hands shook as I picked up the hammer from the kitchen table. I tiptoed to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. Every sound felt amplified.

The beeping kept echoing in my ears. It was relentless, each beep a little stab of fear. I tried to steady my breathing, but my heart was racing. I clenched the hammer tighter.

Swallowing hard, I opened the peephole cover and tried to see what was going on outside. The hallway was dark, only the faint glow from the emergency light. I squinted, trying to make out any shapes. My breath fogged up the glass.

But all I could make out through the blurry lens was a patch of purplish red. It was right up against the peephole, blocking my view. My stomach twisted with dread. What the hell was that?

That purplish red kept squirming. It moved slowly, almost hypnotically. I realized, with a jolt, that it was alive. My skin prickled.

Suddenly, I realized—it was someone’s tongue. The realization hit me like a punch. Someone was licking my peephole. I gagged, bile rising in my throat. The world spun for a second.

Nausea surged up, but I forced myself to keep watching. I needed to know who was out there. My hand trembled on the hammer.

The purplish red moved away, and the moment I met those cloudy eyes, I slammed the peephole cover down and heard him mutter:

“This bitch... once it’s done...”

His voice was low, barely a whisper, but I heard every word. My blood ran cold. I backed away from the door, heart pounding. My mind screamed, Move!

My lips trembled as I dialed 911. The beeping of the wrong password and the dial tone overlapped in my ears like a death knell. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. The noise from the keypad mixed with the ringing, making my head spin. I could barely breathe.

Finally, I heard, “911, what’s your emergency?” A woman’s voice, calm and steady. I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. I forced the words out, voice shaking. Please, just help me.

I tried to explain, but before I could finish, a sharp pain shot through my ankle. It was sudden, like being stung by a wasp. I gasped, looking down. Terror flooded me.

Looking down, I saw that at some point, a thin wire with a sharpened tip had been slipped through the gap under my door, stabbing straight into my ankle and leaving a wound. Blood welled up, bright red against my pale skin. I stared, frozen, as the wire slid back out, leaving a thin, angry line. Horror washed over me.

I froze. My body wouldn’t move. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. The world narrowed to a single point of pain and fear. I was trapped.

The person outside said—