The Puppeteer

Chapter 12

I stood at the window, the phone pressed to my ear, as my father's voice droned on, a monotone hum that barely registered in my mind. Our conversations were always like this - one-sided, clipped, and short. He spoke, I listened, and that was it. No warmth, no affection, no interest in my life. Just a series of curt instructions, as if I were a puppet on strings, a marionette dancing to his tune.

"...and I expect you to attend the gala on my behalf," he said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "It's a high-profile event, and I need someone to represent me. You'll wear the black dress I sent over last week, and you'll make sure to mingle with the right people."

I didn't respond, my attention caught by a faint noise outside. I walked over to the window, my heart beginning to pound in my chest, and peeked through the curtains. The street below was dimly lit, the only sound the distant hum of a car driving by. But then, I saw him.

A dark, deep shadow figure, tall and imposing, with broad shoulders that looked like they were carved from granite. His black hoodie was pulled over his head, and from what I could make out, he was wearing a mask over his face, the eyes and mouth illuminated in a macabre X-pattern. He moved with a fluid, predatory ease, his eyes fixed on something below my line of sight.

My breath caught in my throat as he stopped, his head tilting up, his gaze locking onto mine. I felt a jolt of fear, my heart racing, as he seemed to mock me, his head turning in a slow, deliberate movement, as if laughing at my terror.

But he didn't move, didn't approach the house. He just stood there, watching me, his eyes burning with an unnerving intensity. I was frozen, trapped in his gaze, unable to look away.

My father's voice continued to drone on, oblivious to the horror unfolding outside my window. "...and make sure to smile, Amelia. I don't want anyone to think you're not enjoying yourself. You'll make a good impression, and that's all that matters."

I didn't respond, my voice caught in my throat. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, as the figure outside seemed to hold me in his thrall. How did he get past the new alarm system? How did he know I was watching him?

The floorboards outside creaked, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. He was moving, his eyes never leaving mine, his gaze burning with an unnerving intensity.

"Ameila, are you listening?" my father's voice cut through the silence, a sharp, irritated tone.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Y-yes, Father," I stammered, my eyes still fixed on the figure outside.

"Good," he said, his voice curt. "I expect you to do as I say. Don't disappoint me."

The line went dead, and I was left standing there, frozen in terror, as the figure outside seemed to watch me, waiting for me to make my next move.

I stood in front of the mirror, the black dress my father had sent over clinging to my pale skin like a second skin. The silk fabric was beautiful, but it was also exposed, backless, and revealing, showcasing my cleavage in a way that made me feel both elegant and vulnerable. My long, dark brown hair cascaded down my back, and my blue eyes, too big for my face, sparkled with a mix of fear and determination.

As I heard another noise outside, I bit my ruby red lips, my heart sinking in my chest. He's back. The motherfucker's back. I thought, my mind racing with a mix of emotions. My best friend Lily had insisted we get cameras installed after I told her about the figure I saw outside my window. This guy was dangerous - in more ways than I could comprehend.

I shook my head, my long locks moving with the motion. I wasn't going to let him get to me. I could feel him watching me, his eyes on me like a predator sizing up its prey. I turned to face the window, and that's when I saw him. He was standing outside, his eyes fixed on me, a mask covering his face, the eyes and mouth illuminated in a macabre X-pattern.

He fetched something from his pocket, a small, sinister smile playing on his lips as he placed it on my front porch. His eyes never left mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. He was wearing dark sweats and a hoodie, the moonlight doing nothing to hide his muscular physique. He was all muscle, a towering figure that seemed to exude power and control.

I turned and walked downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't understand why I felt so confident, so wanting to challenge him. But I did. As I reached the front door, Lily came into view, looking incredibly beautiful in her gown. She looked confused, her eyes narrowing as she took in my expression.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice low and concerned.

"He's out there," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lily's eyes widened, and she grabbed her phone, her fingers flying over the keypad as she dialed 911. But I stopped her, my hand on her arm.

"Don't," I said, my voice firm. "I don't know why, but I need to do this."

Lily looked at me, her expression a mix of fear and confusion. "Amelia, you're crazy," she whispered. "This guy is a stalker, a psycho. We need to call the police."

But I just shook my head, my eyes fixed on the door. I took a deep breath, my hand on the knob, and opened it. He was standing there, about twenty feet away, watching me. I let out a gasp, his imposing figure making my heart skip a beat.

I extended my hand, my eyes locked on his. "I'm here," I said, my voice steady. "Now give me my gift."

There was a low, rumble of a chuckle, and he took a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He handed me a small box, his fingers grazing mine for a brief moment, making me let out a gasp of air I didn't know I was holding.

I grabbed the box and shut the door behind me, my heart pounding in my chest. What was I doing? Why was I playing this game with him? But as I looked down at the box, I knew I had to see this through. I had to know what was inside, and what he wanted from me.