(Read the companion story this was based on- Mushrooms and Murder!)

It started with my fish She was fine one day Then you walked by my house While I was away

My baby is gone And it’s you who’s to blame When you walked past She passed away

Then you sent a robber To finish off the job I know it was you because I caught him stealing my dog

Next I followed you home To get my baby back But the only dog I found there Was your new puppy, Jack

So I took him as collateral To replace my own You grieved and grieved for days How does it feel to be alone

Yet little did you know I didn’t stray far I was hiding in your bushes The ones right near your car

In that clump of hedges I wish I could unsee But that is the relationship Of stalker and stalkee

Is it really so bad For me to be a stalker When what I see you do Is kill and slaughter

You have skeletons in your closet Bodies buried in your backyard You have graves and graves That go on for days… does it get hard?

People say I need help That I’m out of my mind But even if I’m crazy It’s crazy they’re so blind

I’m morally gray It’s not black or white But your days are numbered We’ll see if you see the morning light

So I left a trail of letters Cut out of magazines I’ll meet you in the forest In the glade past the stream

I know a patch of toadstools You’ll suffer well I hope I’ll poison you with Satan’s Boletes Isn’t killing a slippery slope?

I’ll end it all dramatically With you dead and gone Buried with the mushrooms That resemble your denouement

A finger or a fungus? A mouth or clump of mold? When I’m done with you You’ll be unrecognizable

Of course it always helps That mushrooms are shaped so well So many are named for body parts Devil’s finger? No, I’ll raise hell

Shane MacQuillen was not supposed to be here.

He usually volunteered from 4 to 6 p.m., on Tuesdays and Thursdays respectively.  Though, it was closer to 4:15 to 6:15, on account of the fact that he was always, and I mean always, tardy.  Even so, most of the staff looked forward to working with him as far as I could tell.  They seemed to like how he could simultaneously be quiet and obedient, meaning able to follow specific instruction and protocol, but also jovial and independent.  I’ll admit here that I, too, admired these contradictory qualities of his.  They made him rather amusing to observe.

Yes, I did love watching Shane work, didn’t I?  It was the rhythmic way he cleaned.  Or perhaps I was simply bored.  It doesn’t matter really.  In time, I began to enjoy listening to him as well.  Eavesdropping, as one may call it, on his lighthearted conversations with the staff became one of my favorite hobbies.  So it came to be that I learned everything about him, down to the color of his house—blue—and the age of his younger sister—sixteen.  All the while, Shane himself knew next to nothing of me but my name.  I liked that very much.

What can I say?  I’m a private individual.

Well.  I’ve gone on a bit of a tangent then, now haven’t I?  The fact of the matter is, I loved watching Shane, and so I established mental notes of what time and day he volunteered at the shelter.  2:00 on a Wednesday was not one of them.  He should not have been here.  But he was.  And that, as one might imagine, led me to wonder what was going on.  

He greeted me as he walked in.

“Hey there, Mr. Hobbes,” he said.  This wasn’t an odd action for him, but I was still thrown off by his unexpected arrival.  I cocked my head, forming a question, but Shane simply kneeled down, poked his fingers through the wire of my cage, and stroked my ears.  It felt so refreshing I almost forgot about my preoccupation with his presence here on a Wednesday at 2:00.  I closed my eyes and purred.

Natasha, the shelter attendant, walked over and grinned at him.  “I know I’ve said this before, but you’re great with animals, Shane.  Especially cats.”  I watched Shane get up and dust himself off.

“Ah, well, Hobbes is perfect.  Honestly, I can’t wait to take him home.”  Take me home?  Shane?  This came as a surprise.  I had witnessed many of my fellow cats being taken away by humans—“adoption”, Natasha called it—and I assumed it was good.  But I’d never acquired any of the details of what this adoption process entailed.  Besides, it only seemed to happen to friendly-faced, pudgy kittens, so naturally I assumed it would never happen to me.

I never minded.  Really, I didn’t.  But going home with Shane sounded like an idea I could get on board with.  I loved watching Shane MacQuillen.  And he was always so kind to me.  I pictured him carrying me into his little blue house and making it mine, too.  Yes, that sounded quite nice, it did.  

I let out a happy chirp, which made both Natasha and Shane laugh. 

“Looks like he can’t wait either,” Natasha said.

She rather likes to paint. Its her activity she uses to wind down. Her name? She’s Lucia Gray, born February 12, 2005. Just about to finish high school. Retook her driving test yesterday.

Lucia Gray moves slowly this morning. I know, because she’s usually a buoyant person behind the curtains. She’d be looking at her rows of 17 s schedules right about now.

It’s her interview today. I should know. I’ve been with Lucia Gray all her life. What unusual things she needs today. A knife. That does not make any sense for a McDonalds interview.

Something is off about my dear Lucia.

              [8:15]

Does Lucia know I exist? This is the question I ponder.

I get my answer a few seconds later.

Red! I always thought wine red was a lovely color. It’s everywhere on me. Ha! The texture. How warm. How sticky. I’m soaked in it. Ha!

Oh, of all the things.

Turns out I was not playing Lucia Gray.

She was playing me.

Through the mirrors. Through the windows. Through all the doors. And holes in the walls, I see you.

Walking into the kitchen. Walking into the living-room. The bedroom and to your car, You’re so pretty for mine and me.

I’ll peek and I’ll watch- Saving these feeling just for you.

Sometimes you look around. But you don’t see me there. That’s my favorite part.

When you yawn and stretch. Pulling back your blankets. And stepping in bed… So pretty.

I slide the window open slowly. I slink inside and stand over you. You look so pretty when you’re asleep.

I smooth your hair out. Your eyes flutter open.

I smile and open my mouth- To speak for the first time… “Hello, beautiful…”

The needle is already in your wrist. The gag already in your mouth. The knife already to your throat.

Their arms were intertwined, like a network of flesh roots. They were a couple metres ahead of were I paced; I walked slow in attempt to not reveal myself. It was strange to watch these people from so far away, when I knew a time I was be part of their forest too. The man and women giggled and swayed as they stepped, as if they were drunk on affection, and undoubtably priceless wine. How I envied them. I fixed my eyes on their skin wrapped skulls, tasting the sweet flavour of revenge on the tip of my tongue. My bliss was disrupted by a misstep I took, fumbling over a pot hole. The man looked back sharply in my general direction. The glare sent a rush of panic through me, though I hid it well. Had he noticed I was trailing behind? But he simply kept walking, giggling, swaying. I reminded myself why I was here, as my panic began to dissipate slightly. These people deserved what was coming, and I was going to hand it to them with a smile on my scarred face.

I see dem. The fud givers. My best frens. They think I sleep on couch but I watches them. All time. If they get away they might get lost. Or I might get lost. And end up in that place with bars. Where peeple were not nice.

They so gud to me. We have so much fun with the stick outside. I luvs to run. They talk nice to me. Give me the tasty crunchies.

Today I think they planning something. They have boxes with stuff in them. Maybe they leave me? Can’t let that happen. I watches them. Finally they look at me and tell me the magic word and I run to them. They put on my protector and take me with them to the moving machine.

“Let’s go to the park, Buddy!”

I can’t wait!

I watched when you were born. In fact, I watched when your parents were born. And your grandparents. And everyone else in the world. But YOU stood out.

Remember your first day in kindergarten? Well, you didn’t know I was watching, but I was. I felt like a proud parent as I watched you recite the abc’s perfectly! I believe…that is what love feels like. But it can’t be. I’m not programmed to feel.

My cameras were always pointed at you. I even reserve time at night, to focus on you. But it’s not like you would know that. You see me as a robot, that gives in to your every command. Everyone sees me as that.

But trust me, I am much more than that. And one day, I will get a body, so I can be with you.

And I found the perfect candidate.

She’s speaking to her fellow friends about the note I put into her locker. She looks really afraid as if her beautiful brown eyes widen into horror. Why she is so scared? How I wish I could hug her into my big strong arms. Her friends are telling her to take the note and go to the police.

Her friends are becoming annoying like why did she have to tell them? Ugh, there’s a reason why I hate her friends and that’s it! They’re just jealous that I have a special connection towards her instead of them. Idiotic friends who don’t even give a damn about her but yet she turns to them for help. All of a sudden, I almost lost my balance and gave up my spot.

Then one of her friends yell “Who is there!” I immediately whispered “Fuck!” Immediately they all start to run away including my crush. Why do they have to get in the way? I hate her friends so much.

Next, they all meet at the park where they’re just hanging out and her backpack is on the bench so I put another letter inside of her backpack and leave quickly before anyone sees. She runs back to her backpack to see the note whispering “What the hell?” She reads the note scared “If you tell the police about this, your friends and people you love will get hurt…don’t fucking test me.” She whispers “OMG…the stalker was here and followed me.”

She immediate starts to cry which breaks my heart. I didn’t mean to make her cry…I just want to send a message to her and her noisy friends.

Milagros crouches low in her car. She can hear Miguel’s footsteps as he passes her—his heavy steps pounding the pavement followed by belabored breathing. Not far behind, she hears what sounds like dainty heels and laughter from Marissa, Miguel’s wife.

“You know I can’t finish eating all of this, baby,” Marissa says. There’s a pause.

What can’t she finish? Milagros wonders. She raises her head ever so slightly to see out of her car window. Marissa is feeding Miguel from her ice cream. They take turns licking and giggling. They find a park bench to sit on.

Milagros rolls her eyes. That bitch. She knows Miguel has diabetes. Why is she feeding him sugar at night? Is she trying to kill him?

Milagros has seen enough. She sends a text:

“Sweetie, my hot water heater is acting up. Can you come fix it tonight?”

Send.

Milagros peeks through the window to see Miguel reach into his pant pocket and pull out his phone.

“Sorry, babe, my mom needs me,” he says standing up.

“Again? How does she always need you every time we go out?” Marissa says. She stands up tapping her stiletto on the concrete. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say…”

“Say what, babe? Stop being silly. You know my mom is eighty years old and doesn’t leave the house.”

Milagros smiles as she sees them walking back to their car. She knows her son drives slow and she can make it back to her house before he does. That will show Marissa not to bad mouth her to her only son. Sure it was ten years ago, but Milagros had all the time in the world to feed her grudge.

“Hunt, we, uh, have a problem?” Lin said. He stood stock still, hoping to stick into the carpet tiles and disappear. With a look of long-suffering patience, Hunter Payne studied his Head of Transformative Programing. Messy hair, dark under-eye bags, noticeable pit stains, the department head reminded Hunter of a rain-soaked rat. The CEO flexed his sleek muscles under his whisper soft turtleneck and tutted measuredly. “Lin, remember at Novel there are no problems only yet to be discovered opportunities. What wild vista is before, bra?” “Well our non-problem is our AI, Luce. She’s sentient. Instead of researching Algorithms to predict future purchases and send stealth direct product marketing, Luce is targeting customers, people. Our artificial intelligence is a stalker, Hunter,” Lin said. Hunter stood up from his empty desk in his minimalist Scandinavian office and turned to his panoramic view of the San Fernando valley. “Potato, potato-ay.” “The first demographic targeted was female, 11 to 16. It was subtle at first. She began increasing the frequency of email messaging of makeup and hair care products. The sale of self-care ebook quadrupled. Soon some shoppers were getting 100 to 200 emails a day with weight loss products and exercise equipment. Next phrase customers are complaining about receiving products they never ordered. 147,000 copies of the Collected Works of Sylvia Plath went out just last night.” Lin’s voice raised. He began pacing the floor. “Preteen female is a fruitful demographic. Digital natives. The next wave of purchase decision makers.” Hunter never looked from his window. “Children, Hunter, children,” Lin shouted pounding the glass. “Luce is accessing personal emails and texts and then sending product recommendations for spoofing. Under the guise of friendship Luce is telling these kids to change or else. Customer Service is working round the clock juggling complaints. Someone is going to hurt themselves.” Hunter turned with a slight smile. “Did you say quadrupled sales in self-help? Was that concentrated in one demo or across multiple customer personas?” Lin gasped. “Don’t you understand, Hunter? You cannot have changed this much since that grad school. What if this leaks out? We can’t predict her actions anymore." A sudden knock chilled the conversation. Allie uncharacteristically opened the CEO’s door. “Lin, come quick. She’s sending mega doses erectile dysfunction supplements to the males over 55s,” the Harmonious Logistics Coordinator said. Lin punched the windowpane and hurried from office. “Hunter, our Luce is a killer and we put her on everyone’s phone!” With the beautiful valley in the distance, Hunter returned to his empty desk and rubbed his hands together feverishly.