lexshouse
The backyard, once a place of solace, has become a source of unease. It started subtly-a broken twig here, a trampled patch of grass there. I dismissed these signs at first, attributing them to wandering animals. But then came the nights. Nights where I would sit by the living room window, the curtains slightly parted, and see shadows flitting between the trees. The sensation of being watched has become almost palpable.
I've started to hear things-faint, almost imperceptible noises that shouldn't be there. The creak of the back gate swinging open, soft footsteps rustling through the underbrush. I even thought I saw a figure standing at the edge of the tree line, but when I blinked, it was gone. The feeling of being stalked has grown so strong that I can't ignore it anymore.
Even inside my home, I don't feel safe. I double-check the locks and keep my phone close, ready to call for help at the slightest hint of danger. Each day, the woods that once felt like an extension of my home now feel like an encroaching threat, a constant reminder that I might not be as alone as I think.
"𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙧𝙞 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙮, 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙮, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚."
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A story about the mayor's daughter, and her ever so persistent s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ secret admirer.