Surrendered Soul

#2: The Eyes In The Dark

I didn't know what to do.

The note had left me shaken, but I didn't have time to sit and process my fear. Not when he was coming. Not when I could already feel the weight of his presence lurking just outside my apartment. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them making sense, none of them helping me escape.

What if I leave? What if I call the cops? What if I just lock all the doors and barricade myself in?

But there was a voice in the back of my head — the same voice that had whispered to me the moment I saw him that first time — telling me it was already too late.

He knows where you are. He's already watching you.

I stumbled through my apartment, pulling the blinds shut, locking every door, checking every window for signs of a break-in. The small, irrational part of me — the part that wanted to believe this was all a bad dream — wondered if I was being paranoid. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe he wasn't watching me at all. But then I remembered his eyes — the way he had looked at me that first time, with that cold, calculating hunger.

He was watching me.

I should've left. I should've run to a friend's house, or gone to the police. But I couldn't. I couldn't. My mind went in circles as I struggled with the idea of calling the police. How could I explain this? How could I tell them that a man I barely knew — no, a man who had been watching me for God knows how long—was now hunting me down? The police would think I was crazy. Paranoid. It wasn't like he had left a trail of evidence, something concrete enough to take seriously. His presence was a whisper, a ghost in the shadows. And that thought alone made it impossible to call anyone.

No one would believe me.

But I had to try.

I grabbed my phone, hands trembling, and dialed the number for the police. My heart pounded as the phone rang, each second stretching into an eternity. The operator answered, and I forced myself to speak.

"Please, help," I gasped, barely able to form the words. "There's a man — he's been watching me. I don't know what to do, but he's here. He's coming for me."

I could hear the operator's voice in my ear, calm and reassuring, but it felt so distant, so disconnected from the urgency of the situation. "Stay calm, ma'am. We're sending officers to your location. Stay inside and lock all doors and windows. Do not open the door for anyone."

I was about to respond, to try and explain more, but then I heard something.

The sound of a door creaking.

My breath caught in my throat, and I froze. It wasn't the operator's voice that made me stop. It was that feeling again, the one I couldn't shake. He's here.

I didn't wait for the operator to say anything more. I dropped the phone, letting it hit the counter with a loud clatter, and I scrambled to check the locks, to make sure everything was secure. But even as I did, I knew. It was too late.

I felt his presence before I saw him.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, like a warning shot.

I felt like I might faint. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

I crept slowly toward the peephole, my eyes darting back and forth as I tried to make sense of the shadows in the hallway. The small glass circle showed me nothing. No one.

But that didn't mean he wasn't there.

I backed away, feeling the cold sweat trickle down my spine. I could feel his gaze, like fingers running over my skin. He was watching. Waiting.

The door rattled. The lock turned.

I gasped, stumbling back in shock. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor, my body frozen with terror as the door swung open violently.

I didn't have time to scream. He was already inside.

His tall figure filled the doorway, blocking out the hallway light, his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—burning through the dim space of my apartment. I wanted to run. I wanted to do anything to escape, but I couldn't move.

He stepped inside, closing the door with deliberate care behind him, his gaze never leaving me.

"You called the police," he said, his voice low, disappointed. "I should've expected that. How foolish of you, Clara."

I flinched, his words cutting through the air like a blade. He heard me. He was listening.

"I told you, you can't hide from me," he continued, stepping closer, his presence growing more suffocating. "I've been watching you for so long, Clara. Did you really think a phone call would stop me?"

I couldn't speak. The silence between us stretched, suffocating, until he closed the distance, his towering form looming over me like a shadow I couldn't escape.

"I'm disappointed in you," he murmured, voice tinged with something dark and possessive. "I thought you understood. I thought you knew me better than that."

My heart hammered in my chest as he stepped closer, his cold eyes locking onto mine with unnerving intensity.

"You really thought they could save you? The police? They're never going to reach you in time, Clara. They won't be able to help you now."

I wanted to speak, to shout for him to leave, but I was paralyzed, my body frozen in place by a fear so deep, so suffocating, that I couldn't form words.

His smile was slow, almost indulgent as he reached out to touch my cheek, his fingers gentle but firm, as if he was claiming me.

"I told you I'd come for you when you were ready," he whispered, his voice low, soothing in a way that made my skin crawl. "And you're ready now."

I stumbled backward, but the kitchen counter was blocking me behind and he was right in front of me. He was too close. I couldn't get away.

"Please... don't," I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His hand was at my throat before I even realized he'd moved. Not tight enough to choke me, but enough to remind me that he was in control.

"Shh," he said softly, almost tenderly, as if I were a child needing to be soothed. "You don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet."

I gasped for air, my hands going weak as I placed them against his wrist, trying to push him away, but it was futile. He was stronger than me, and he knew it.

His smile twisted again, colder this time, as he stepped back, allowing me a moment of relief. But it didn't matter. I knew what was coming.

"I'm here now," he said, almost lovingly, his voice thick with something I couldn't understand. "And I'm not going anywhere."