The Young Psychopath

WHY AM LIKE THIS

I was nine years old, living with my parents. I was an only child, and we were a happy family. My dad was a lawyer, and my mom stayed home with me. I loved playing the organ in the sitting room—it felt like we were the perfect family. Everything was wonderful except for one thing: the man who was always watching me.

He had dark hair, wore simple clothes, and large glasses. I saw him everywhere—at the park, at school, even around the house. He never spoke, just stood there, staring at me. It terrified me. One day, while I was playing at the school playground, I saw him again. He was just standing, watching me like always. This time, I decided to approach him.

When I got closer, he stretched out his hand, and I hesitated. "Who are you?" I asked.

He smiled. "I watch you because you're beautiful and special. Please, sit with me."

Hesitant, but somehow curious, I sat down beside him, holding my doll, Tracy. It felt like a dream. One moment we were talking, and the next, I heard the school bell ring. Playtime was over. I stood up, turning back to where we sat, but he was already gone, standing far away from the playground.

"Tracy, come inside for class," Ms. Tina called, taking my hand. As we walked, I kept looking back, confused. How did he know my name? I never told him.

From that day on, I saw him almost every time I went out to play. He never hurt me. We became friends—or at least I thought we did. He was so kind, and I started to look forward to seeing him.

One Saturday, my mom took me to the park. Ms. Tina was there too. Mom knelt in front of me, holding my hands. "Tracy, wait on the swing while I talk to Ms. Tina, okay?"

I nodded and ran off, excited to play. As soon as I sat on the swing, he appeared again. We began to chat like usual, but suddenly my mom rushed toward us. She grabbed my hand and pulled me away from him.

"Tracy, you must never talk to strangers again," she said sternly, her voice shaking.

I was upset. "He's not a stranger, he's my best friend!" I yelled.

That night, my father came home late. The police arrived shortly after. I sat in the living room, confused as they questioned me about the man. I tried to tell them he wasn't dangerous, but my mom shushed me and sent me to bed. I snuck to the stairs, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"How did he find us?" Mom whispered.

"We have to move," one of the officers said.

"I don't know! We can't just leave," Dad argued. "It's not that simple."

The police reassured them they would arrest the man. "He's dangerous, and we'll handle it," the officer said.

I ran back to my room in tears. I couldn't let them take him away from me. I scribbled a note on a piece of paper: Run away! The cops are coming for you. I opened my window and threw the note outside. I waved goodbye as he stood there in the rain, watching me. I checked again later, and the note was gone. He must have seen it.

The next morning, I smiled, relieved that my friend was safe. But after that day, weeks passed, and I never saw him again. I missed him terribly, and every time I went to our usual spots, I sat alone, hoping he would return.

One night, after dinner, I went up to my room and found a note on my bed. It was from him. It read: I'm back for you.

I was overjoyed. I fell asleep smiling, knowing my best friend had returned. But that night, I was woken by screams coming from downstairs. I rushed to the door and saw him standing there. I ran to him, hugging him tight.

"Why are you here? My parents are downstairs. It's not safe!" I whispered.

He smiled, taking my hand and leading me downstairs. I froze when I saw my parents tied up and gagged, struggling in their chairs.