The Fallen Angel

Chapter II

I locked the door as soon as I stepped foot inside. I shut every window and closed every curtain, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I felt as if I was watched and no matter where I went, someone was looking at me, watching my every move. I'd become paranoid.

I grabbed a knife from the drawer and stood still in the middle of my kitchen, not knowing what I should do. I took a deep breath, listening to the sound of my heart thumping through my ears. I had imagined these scenarios before, during the nights I spent alone. I had made a plan, imagined every move down to the muscle, but it was different when it happened in reality. It was something you couldn't prepare because the churning feeling in your stomach and the pool of anxiety in your head makes you forget everything that ever seemed important enough to remember.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, something my Mother always told me to do when I was scared. Just as I was about to finally start breathing normally again, the telephone began to ring. I held my breath, a ball rising in my throat. My trembling hand reached for it slowly and I pressed it to my ear.

"Hello?" my voice was barely a whisper. The line stayed quiet, only the sound of slow breathing coming across. It was a horror movie cliché that I would've criticized had it been playing on my T.V. screen, but it was happening before me, which suddenly took all the humour out of it.

"If this is some kind of joke, it isn't funny," my confidence began to grow, but my knuckles were still white from holding on to the knife so tightly.

"I find it quite amusing," the man finally spoke and my breath caught in my throat.

"What do you want?"

"You're asking the wrong questions, love," he chuckled. "Have you been getting sleep? You look horribly tired." At his words, I turned around letting out a gasp, my eyes scanning the room.

"I'm calling the police." Tears started flowing down my cheeks.

"Not if I get you first," he said and the line went dead. I dialled the three numbers I had hope I never would have to use and waited for an answer. Steps began travelling above my head, heavy feet landing on the wooden floor of my bedroom upstairs.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" a woman answered and I let out a cry.

"There's someone in my house," I whispered, my quivering voice making it almost inaudible.

"Ok, try to stay calm. What's your address?"

I tried to remember, but I had never gotten the chance to memorize it. "I don't know," I cried and the steps suddenly stopped. "I just moved here."

"It's okay, just breathe for me. Do you know what street you're on?" her voice was calm, almost reassuring.

"Oak lane," my voice shook uncontrollably.

"Can you tell me what your house looks like?"

"It's an old white house with black window shutters," I squeezed my eyes close, trying to visualize it in my head.

"Good. We have officers on their way now, but I want you to stay on the line with me, okay?" I nodded even if she couldn't see me.

"I want you to go outside for me," she said and I began approaching the door, my eyes never leaving the staircase.

"I'm outside," I announced, backing away from the house.

"Now, go in the street. The officers should be there any minute." I stared at the house and my heart began to race when I noticed a shadow in the upstairs window. My room. A figure stood in the window frame, his features hidden behind the curtains as it stared at me. I couldn't move and I couldn't speak. All I could do was stand there, trying not throw up on the pavement.