She ignored the flashing pain of the nettles brushing against her bare legs as she ran, her heart thumping in her chest so hard that she felt it could burst through her skin at any moment. Her shirt, damp with sweat, clung to the small of her back and breaths were fast and ragged.

A cracking sound caused her to freeze. The sound of a dry branch breaking underfoot. An animal? Or was it him? Forcing her breathing to slow so that the sound would not betray her, she knew with absolute certainty that she was being watched. She couldn’t see them but she knew they were there. Like a hunter and its prey, she knew that she could continue running until her legs buckled underneath her, but the ending was inevitable. There would be no escape. Not this time.

Another cracking sound, this time closer. Her filthy hands flew to her mouth to stifle her cry.

She wasn’t just being watched. She was being observed. Assessed. She pictured him between the trees, grinning, pondering what her next move might be as if this was all just a game.

There’s a prickling at the back of my neck and a sensation of spiders crawling up my spine. My heart is pounding as my eyes dart around like a hunted animal. I know you’re watching from somewhere. From the cobwebbed corners shrouded in darkness? Behind the slight crack in the door? I look, but I can’t see you anywhere.

My ears ring bright as I tear my house apart. I search the closet, the cellar, the basement. Glass breaks and miscellaneous objects crash to the floor. There’s nothing—no one—here, but that’s is impossible. I know you’re here, you treacherous eye.

I claw at my hair; I can’t take it anymore. My brain itches and my forehead sweats and I can’t think of anything but you. The whole world is blurry. I can’t shake this buzzing feeling; it’s like a thousand mosquitoes swarming my face. Dear God, where in hell are you and what do you want? I’m crying, screaming, shaking. It’s terrible. I’d close my eyes, but every time I try, I only see yours—and it’s blood red iris and cracked yellow veins. Staring. Blinking.

Watching.

I sit on the hotel bed, a slight shiver from the cheap AC runs through me. I open my book but pause, the sensation of being watched lays heavy over me. I look up and can’t feel it anymore. Strange- I look don’t at the page and feel eyes on me again, this time closer. Panic catches in my throat as I fell the energy in the room shift. They’re moving? I glance up again and the feeling drops instantly. They know I know they’re here… but where. The room is small, not many places to hide. I curl into a ball and clutch my book tightly. I look down at the pages and fell the warmth of eyes settle onto me once more. My phone buzzes next to me. I don’t want to grab it though. Every time I look away they get closer. The phone buzzes again and I slowly grab it. A text from an unknown number. “Personally I’m not a fan of Marisa Meyer.” The message glows up at me and I stare back, frozen with fear. I go to shut the book when another message beeps next to me. I thought it was silenced…? I hesitantly grab the phone again, “Don’t forget a bookmark deary.” I put a bookmark in the book and text back. “Who are you?” They immediately text back. “Better question: Where am I?” The warmth of being watched quickly turns to the cold sting of fear. “Look out the window darling.” I stare at the message, afraid to look up and see my new stalker. I raise my head slowly and see a dark figure in the window, presumably standing on the 1ft balcony. The creature has no features to its face and that’s when I realize… there isn’t a shadow. That’s Their Reflection.

The moment I realize it I feel their breath of the back of my neck. “Hi.” My whole body shivers. I don’t dare reply. They sit behind me on the bed, clearly waiting for me to acknowledge their Hi. “It’s not very polite to ignore someone’s salutations.” … “I brought goldfish.”

_NOTE: I changed the prompt from something the character can’t see to something that ONLY the character can see. _

The hairs on the back of my neck spike up, my eyes darting to all the people on the street. _Who’s watching me?_ 

My hands form fists in my coat pockets, my breaths coming out more frenzied with each step. I had already looked behind me twice, and upon finding nothing but people engulfed in their phones, turned back around. 

I was headed back to my apartment, tired of a long day of work taking photos of happy families and couples. _Just a side job_. 

The cool air sent shivers along my spine, but I wondered if it was the cool air or the _thing_ I felt watching me. I had felt it as soon as I stepped out of the studio, uneasy and practically racing down the steps. 

_I shouldn’t go back home. I don’t know who’s following me_. My mind was torn between it just being paranoia to it being a person. Or a thing. One with bad intentions. I could feel it rattling my bones, twitching my fingers, sinking deep into my lungs.

**_Hello_**.

I whirled around, freezing midstep. One lone figure stood on the sidewalk, headlights and streetlights mangling their shadow. 

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice carrying above the breeze.

Everyone else had disappeared around me, leaving only the figure and I in a bubble-like trance. I could see people farther away, on the other side of the street or in their cars, but they didn’t react to others’ disappearance.

You’re interesting. You’re not satisfied.

“Isn’t everyone? What do you want? Who are you?” My voice shook, and I took a step back. I could feel tender wisps creeping up my ankles and into my veins, keeping me still.

The figure stayed where it was, only tilting its head in response despite wearing a hood. Covered in black from head to toe, with only a few buttons and a small screen decorating its clothing, the thing moved its hand towards me.

_ I have never witnessed someone in my time here with this spirit-type. Would you mind just giving me your hand? _ “Why?” My breath clouded in front of me, my eyes blurry from trying not to blink. I felt the power of the figure inside me, tugging me closer without moving themselves.

Confusion and fear built up inside me, my hands shaking with adrenaline. 

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you _doing_?”

The creature was silent, gently raising its hand and setting mine into theirs. I had no control over my own body anymore, and even my voice was becoming quieter. 

The figure used its other hand to trace patterns into my skin, their fingers featherlight. My mind raced with thoughts of another life, another dimension.

 **_Thank you for your time. I’m only learning. You will forget all of this come morning.

_** The figure disappeared in the way ashes fall, the way water rushes through a creek. Calm, but almost everywhere all at once.

                                     …

I awoke in my bed, my mind fuzzy. A headache bloomed at the front of my skull, and I winced, pulling the blanket over my head. 

I sprang upright when I remembered the events of last night, of the stranger with the gentle touch and immense power. 

I looked down at my hand, but there was no evidence of their presence besides the tingling on my knuckles. 

My bedroom door was ripped open silently, the light of the window in the hall illuminating the figure standing there. The one from last night.

**_Very interesting, indeed. _**

I was alone in the woods. I felt something, no, someone, watching me. Observing me. Carefully studying me. I started walking quicker when I heard some rustling in the leaves. And it wasn’t wind. I thought it was a monster when I saw brown, fluffy fur in the auburn forest. I freaked out when I say it jiggle. I knew it was spooky. I knew it was scary. I knew it was jiggly. I knew it was hairy. Spooky, scary, jiggly, hairy.

At first I blamed it on a sensitive and vivid imagination - a legacy from my childhood. Ever afterward I am destined to shrink at the first sound of a raised voice, or the sudden chill that halts a previously warm conversation. A car back firing renders me so panic stricken that I have become a master of disguise to those observing me. This has taken me decades to perfect. Anything to escape the unwanted attention of the neighbourhood good samaritans.

Forgive me. I digress. So, having excluded my vivid imagination, I wondered whether it was a product of taking so many medications. After all, there are always articles in the press alerting us to this problem, especially for the over 50’s. I’ve moved on another decade and thankful that I don’t have to pay for my prescriptions anymore. I couldn’t afford them to be honest, not at £9.90 per item. But that extra ten years has affected my physical health considerably. So much so that I find myself trawling the internet for the best deals on funeral plans. It’s such a ball getting old.

I went to see my doctor about things. I asked about taking so many medications. Was it possible that certain interactions were to blame for my belief that someone was always watching me. I said that it was beginning to take over my life, causing feelings of anxiety and dread that I just couldn’t shake, besides turning me into a total insomniac. I was feeling wretched, over-wrought and so tired I could out-sleep a sloth.

Dr Jackie Telman had been my regular GP at the Moorcroft Surgery for several years. She had seen me at my best and worst. I liked her. She didn’t suffer fools gladly but had focused empathy in spades. And she always did her best.

I tried to make myself comfortable in the ubiquitous grey plastic chair at the side of her desk. She saw my pained expression as I lowered myself into it.

"Sorry the chairs are so uncomfortable - I’m trying to persuade the partners to replace them all.” I looked at her and weakly smiled.

“Now, what’s been happening to bring you here today?”

And so I told my story. How it all began about three months ago. Just small things - the bin being repositioned on the drive, no matter how many times I lodged it tightly in its storage area. Then the milk delivery missing the odd one at different times in the week. I had contacted the local farm ready to make a complaint about my order not being fulfilled, only to find that they had, in fact, delivered the right number as asked. I felt really stupid after that call, but then the same thing happened the following day. What on earth was going on?

Dr Telman leant forward, nodding in agreement whilst rotating the loose gold band on her left hand with her right thumb and forefinger.

I momentarily hesitated to tell her what happened next. What if she really did think that I was losing the plot? My mind was ruminating over the possible consequences of this. My head lowered and my view was of my fur-covered jeans. I’d forgotten to brush it off before leaving.

“Are you ok to continue?”

I looked up. Her earnest face gave me permission to continue. After the bin and the milk bottles, things escalated. Whenever I stood at the front door I was convinced someone was nearby, hidden, observing me. I would scan the trees, walk down the drive, look up and down the road and even walk backwards up the drive (goodness knows what the neighbours thought) to keep it as much as I could within my sight. Then, I would retreat inside, conscious of my heart beating and my palms wet and clammy with perspiration.

Since I live on my own, there wasn’t anyone who could moderate my rapidly advancing paranoia. I double-checked the window and door locks. I had a local trader fit a dead lock on the front door and add an extra lock to the back door. He joked about turning the place into Fort Knox whilst I made him a coffee. After which my bank account was nearly £200 lighter.

I paused, a downward glance at my watch told me that I’d been in the consultation room for ten minutes already. Dr Telman must have read my mind as she calmly said

“I’ve given over plenty of time for you, so just carry on.”

Feeling comforted by this, I ploughed on. I recounted the dread I woke up with. How I fastidiously checked and re-checked every room and item to make sure that nothing had moved or disappeared whilst I had slept. And how this routine was taking me longer and longer. I felt imprisoned in my physical home but the cell bars of my mind were equally oppressive.

I adjusted my position in the comfortless chair. I took a breath.

“This is really difficult…thank you for being so patient.”

So I told her the final thing that had broken this camel’s back. Just a couple of days ago I’d forced myself out to the local shops. My fridge was empty, save for a rapidly mouldering microwave meal that I’d defrosted but couldn’t bring myself to eat. And if the three bears had broken in looking for food, they too would have been as disappointed as Goldilocks, perhaps more so as there wasn’t any porridge at all.

I closed the front door behind me. Stuffed the keys in my pocket. I looked around the garden. Red leaves, looking like discarded confetti, lay jumbled in random piles. I focused my attention on the big elm tree to the right. It’s trunk was easily thick enough for someone to hide behind. I told myself that I just needed to get to the shop as I began to pick up my pace. And though the rest of the world was getting on with life right in front of me, still I felt the familiar uneasiness and terror return.

I looked behind me. Nothing. I cast my glance across the road. Only a hassled looking woman with a small protesting child in tow. I caught a glimpse of myself in the windows of a red Toyota. I looked like I’d been on a month long bender. In the distance I could see the SPAR shop and anticipated the relief I would feel once inside the door.

Just a couple of minutes. I told myself that it was all in my head. Relief allowed my shoulders to drop, I pushed my hand into my right coat pocket to reassure myself that I had brought my purse. The tatty scrunched up plastic bag with it crinkled.

Then liquid horror flooded my body. As I looked ahead, on the corner of the next street was the familiar figure of someone I feared, loathed and despised. I blinked and made myself stare hard just to make sure. I wanted to scream but my tongue stuck like glue in my dry mouth. I quickly felt around in my left pocket, then my back pocket, “Shit”, I’d left my phone at home.

I felt faint, steadied myself against a lightpost and went through my options like a computer running a complex programme.

I ran up the next drive which had a car parked in it, shouting for help and banging loudly on the door. A confused middle-aged woman looked me up and down, fortunately got the gist of what was happening and ushered me quickly inside where I sat down as she called the Police.

I told the woman where my ex had been standing and asked her to see if he was still there. She furtively parted the lace curtains in the bay window, turned to me and said that he was still there, smoking and grinning at her.

I was petrified he would break in. The woman, who told me her name was Jill, did her best to reassure me that everything was going to be ok and if he did try anything he would be sorry, especially since her only companion in the house was an ex-Police dog that she had offered to re-home two years ago after his retirement. Jill went to get him from the kitchen, then introduced a huge, black and tan German Shepherd who went by the name of Rollo.

He approached me, looked at me with his liquid brown eyes, bent his head to sniff my outstretched hand then took a step backward and sat down.

“Oh, he really likes you. Usually he just sniffs people and walks away”

I was relieved and comforted to have Rollo in the room.

I finished up by recounting in between wiping my eyes, how the Police had arrived, taken my statement and contact details and asked Jill if I could remain there whilst they rounded up my ex. Apparently, they were looking for him anyway in connection with a serious assault and stalking charge. It took another day for them to track him down. During the interview he confessed quite brazenly to stalking me, taking the milk and moving the bins. He had also been caught with a flick-knife and told the investigating officers that he was just waiting for the right moment to kill me but wanted, like a cat with a mouse, to ‘play’ first.

Leaving the surgery I stopped to sit on a nearby bench. It was now Spring and the cherry-tree blossom was glorious. It had been a desperately difficult time but, I had come through. Dr Telman had arranged some PTSD counselling and I had found this really helpful in allowing me to deal with all the mixed emotions from recent experiences and those that had lingered from my early life.

I looked at my watch. I’d arranged to meet Jill at Nibbles, a favourite nearby café for lunch and a catch up. We had kept in touch and found that friendship was a good antidote to loneliness. And sometimes I took Rollo out for his walk, but I always remembered my phone.

The day as warm Hot even But still Shivers crawl up my spine

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end

And my mind won’t stop reeling Going back and forth Wondering who is watching

Because someone has to be

Every Step Is it’s own battle

I’m fighting myself Wondering Where Should I Go

It’s been like this for weeks Constant No breaks

These are my symptoms doctor How are you Going to fix it?

This is my problem Officer How can you keep me safe?

“Why were you at the beach anyway, Isn’t that just praying for someone to follow you around?”

I

Never

Told

You

I

Was

At

The

Beach

I am sitting on the beach , taking in the warm summer day. I was closing my eyes feeling the breeze on my skin, when all of a sudden it felt like someone was watching me. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I opened my eyes because it felt like someone was right there, but there was nobody there. I then just brushed it off, thinking I was imagining things, and went back to enjoying my time on the beach. This time when I closed my eyes I had exactly the same feeling. I opened my eyes again and there wasn’t anyone around. I decided to leave the beach because I was feeling extremely freaked out. I got into my car and decided to head home. I was on the the road for about ten minutes when I got the same feeling. It almost felt like someone was in the passenger seat, but of course they weren’t. When I got home , I locked my door and I tried to go on with my day,but I could still feel someone there. I then woke up and realized I was sleeping and was having a nightmare. I took a giant sigh of relief!

I feel your eyes. I feel you watching. I know you’re there. I know you’re disappointed. I hear you sighing. I hear you scolding.

I feel your gaze. I feel your attention. I know you hate me. I know you’re angry. I hear you screaming. I hear you yelling.

I feel your stare. I feel your fear. I know you’re hurting I know you blame me. I hear you crying. I hear you breaking.

So why can I not see you? Why are you there, Yet I can never really know you? I feel everything I’ve done to you, Yet you never tell me what to fix. Where are you?

Why can I not get you back? I want you back. You were happy and kind, And now I’ve killed you. Your blood is on my hands. This is all my fault. I killed you, But you still haunt me.

Old me, Where are you?

Sarah just ponders away, walking around Central Park when she feels someone is watching her.

Slowly coming back to reality she looks around.

She couldn’t see anyone in her secluded pathway and started to worry.

Out of nowhere a young mailman runs past her dropping a newspaper.

”Read all about it!” yells the mailman.

weirdo

Sarah pics up the newspaper and unfolds it.

She scans it and finds circled words and letters in a fashion column.

Sp. ys. Don’t. J. Us. t Keep. Se. c. R. ets.

They. L. ie.

No one can. Stop. Us.

Sarah smiles.

The Us is underlined.

“Thank you!!!”

Part 3 of Sarah?

HAHAHAHAHA ✨✨💅💅