The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

The Eyes Across the Street

Dwayne had always been sensitive to being watched. As a child, he would feel eyes on him even when he was alone in his room. His parents had chided him, telling him it was just his imagination, but the feeling had never truly gone away.

Now, as a grown man living in a small suburban house, Dwayne couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. At first, it was just a nagging sense of being observed, but as the days went by, the feeling grew stronger. He noticed strange things: a curtain twitching in the house across the street, a shadowy figure lurking in the corner of his eye, the sound of footsteps outside his bedroom window at night.

The house across the street was a nondescript, two-story building with a neatly manicured lawn and a cheerful yellow front door. Dwayne had waved to the owner, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile, a few times, but they had never spoken. He didn't even know her name.

But Dwayne was convinced that someone was watching him from that house.

He tried to brush off the feeling, telling himself he was being paranoid, but the sense of being watched only intensified. He started to vary his daily routine, taking different routes to work, changing his schedule, but no matter what he did, the feeling persisted.

One night, Dwayne woke up to the sound of footsteps outside his bedroom window. He sat up with a jolt, his heart racing, and listened intently. The footsteps had stopped, but he knew someone was still there, watching him.

He threw off the covers and got out of bed, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. The street was dark and empty, the only sound the distant hum of a car engine. But as he looked across the street, he could have sworn he saw a figure standing in the window of the house across the street.

The figure was tall and imposing, with eyes that seemed to bore into Dwayne's very soul. For a moment, Dwayne was frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, the figure vanished, and the window was dark once more.

Dwayne knew he had to do something. He couldn't just sit back and let someone watch him, invading his every moment. He decided to start investigating, to try and uncover the identity of the person watching him.

He began by researching the owner of the house across the street. Her name was Mrs. Jenkins, a widow who had lived in the house for over 20 years. Dwayne couldn't find any information that suggested she was anything other than a kindly, elderly woman.

But as he continued to dig, he uncovered some disturbing facts. There had been reports of strange occurrences in the house across the street, of unexplained noises and lights flickering on and off. Some neighbours had even claimed to have seen shadowy figures lurking around the property at night.

Dwayne was convinced that someone – or something – was watching him from that house. He decided to take matters into his own hands and started to stake out the house at night, watching for any sign of movement.

As the days went by, Dwayne became more and more obsessed with the house across the street. He barely slept, spending hours watching and waiting. His friends and family noticed a change in him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

One night, as he was watching the house, he saw the figure again. This time, it was standing in the doorway, beckoning to him. Dwayne felt a chill run down his spine as the figure began to move towards him, its eyes fixed on him with an unblinking stare.

Suddenly, Dwayne was running, sprinting back to his own house as fast as he could. He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, panting.

He knew he had to get out of there, to get as far away from the house across the street as possible. He packed a bag and left, driving out of the neighbourhood without looking back.

As he drove, Dwayne couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still watching him. He glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see the figure from the house across the street staring back at him.

But the mirror was empty, reflecting only the dark road behind him.

Dwayne sighed, relief washing over him. He was finally free from the feeling of being watched.

Or so he thought.

As he glanced in the mirror again, he saw something that made his blood run cold. A small piece of paper was stuck to the windshield, flapping in the wind.

It was a note, scrawled in handwriting that looked eerily familiar.

"I'll always be watching you," it read.

Dwayne's heart sank as he realized that he would never be able to escape the feeling of being watched. The figure from the house across the street had followed him, and it would always be there, lurking in the shadows, watching him.

As he drove into the night, the darkness seemed to close in around him, and Dwayne knew that he would never be alone again.