I first saw it last month, flying low over the grocery store parking lot. I hadn’t thought much about it, figuring it was just someone’s new toy.

It didn’t feel like it was following me exactly. It’d appear as a tiny black dot far off, zipping around. I’d randomly see it, once or twice a week. Then that changed to once a day.

I’d open my front door, and there it was. Hovering over my garden. It’s camera eye staring.

Paranoia bloomed. Every trip to the grocery store, every evening jog, the drone was there, a silent sentinel in the sky. It never approached, never engaged. But the constant surveillance was suffocating.

Yet every time I called the police, the drone was gone. Not a speck in the sky.

I heard it rap against my window, blades bouncing off the glass. It looked in, into my home. Enough was enough.

Grabbing my metal bat I flung open my front door. The drone whizzed, coming closer.

I swung with all my might. With the crack of plastic, I hit it to the ground.

The drone laid crumpled on the grass, blades still trying and failing to fly. It’s camera eye still stared, red dot in the corner. A scratched marking read “unit number 37” on its casing.

“Who the hell are you?” I yelled at the drone. “And what the hell are you doing!”

“No-one-flys-this-unit” I jumped as It’s static voice crackled. The red light dimmed to nothing. It was dead.

Yet even now, I still hear the light buzzing. As if it’s overhead. Yet when I look, there’s not a speck in the sky.