Anatidaephobia

Quack.

Ducks. Everywhere, I see them, or rather, they see me. It doesn't matter where I am, or where I have been. No matter where, their feathered eyes are always trained on me, waiting for a time unknown to me. I've tried every measure to get them off my trail, from locking myself in a windowless house to isolating myself in complete darkness alone for weeks on end, yet still, they somehow manage to find me, and their eyes catch me, always. No matter what, they watch, always. Through thick and thin, on days good and bad, when I am in bed or up at my feet, they watch, and they will always watch, until death do us part. Today, Jeff stalks me from the shadows, his rubbery feet slipping silently through alleyways and across roads just to monitor my everyday activity. What Jeff hasn't heard from his feathered colleagues, I know not, but I assume it's better to see the victim in person than to trust the words of others. When I got up in the morning, I couldn't see him, but I could sense him, hiding somewhere out of reach and out of view, staring at me as I wished to gaze upon him. As I got ready, he stood outside the bathroom and bedroom doors, only to slink back into the shadows just as I was getting closer. He watches, but I can't even get a look at my pursuer; my mental assailant. On the way to work, he stowed himself away in my trunk, only to dodge out and behind cars when I reached for water in the back seat. Always watching, always out of sight. As I walked inside my place of work, Jeff followed me in, his webbed feet silent as his comrades, seemingly dissipating in thin air. In the meeting, he stood, motionless, behind the associate right across from me, and ducked under the table and out of sight as we stood up. As I returned to my desk, he clung to my back, laughing at the vending machine with my coworkers, yet never showering himself to me or them. Were I to get fired, Jeff would not follow me, but another would, just to watch, to torment me and my suffering. Do they enjoy it, watching me struggle to function in society, knowing they're always there, yet never affirmed by the individuals who surround me in my everyday life? My only conceivable answer is yes, else they would have stopped long ago, and I would have lost their track years before I lost my first job. As I leave my job that afternoon, Jeff follows in much a similar way to this morning, flowing between my car and others like water through rocks, an individual drop in a sea of motion, never to be seen, but known for sure to be there. Opening the door, I am greeted by the same lonesome sight I am greeted by every day, permeated by the eyes of a duck. I live alone in my apartment, all those who loved me having left me, for my knowledge and fear. My only comfort is the ever-running television in the living room, the voices sounding throughout the hallowed halls of my apartment, same as they always have been; artificial white noise. They're no good replacement for organic human voices, the ones that used to surround me each day, before the ducks came. Did they come onto me, or was it me who noticed them? No earthly way to tell now. Solemnly, yet aware, I prepare my dinner. I don't cook much anymore, out of fear of those who watch. Will they act? I can never tell, but somehow the thought it only marginally comforting. I'll never have peace again, and my head is on a swivel as I eat. Finally, the last bite slides down my throat, doing nothing to assuage my unease. From there, I have no plans, and I'm tired. I don't try to for long my time awake any longer than I need to, and I almost immediately prepare for bed, dimming the house to a comforting and foreboding black, leaving on only the TV. It keeps me sane; if I am still sane. As I close myself in the bathroom, I listen through the doorway for the sound of small, webbed footsteps. Just as every night, I hear nothing, but I know he's there, still watching, even after all this time. I'm never privy to when he will leave, and when the next watcher will arrive, but I suspect it will happen while I rest my eyes and my mind. In my bed, I lie awake. I don't try to force myself asleep. With the feathered eyes just outside of my vision, that is impossible. Instead, I wait on sleep to naturally come to me. At first, it took long, but when I started to fill the time with small, mindless tasks, it slowly yet surely started to creep in sooner and sooner. I have it down to an hour until sleep, most of which I fill with reading. In my books, I can escape to a better reality, a reality where love triumphs over fear, where I am not alone with my thoughts and a duck. Still, it is only a book. In the life I live, I have no loved ones, people tend to avoid me, whether they see the ducks I cannot or not, therefore I am alone. The book is enrapturing, yet I still fall asleep quickly enough, although not quickly enough for me to not notice the ever-approaching presence of the duck eyes.