Foghorn

He had, for many years, been unable to shake the feeling that someone was following him. It was the whisper of crisp autumn leaves as they're carried along the sidewalk and the worn scuffing of sneakers; sounds which instantly evaporate into silence when one attempts to find their source. It had become second nature for the man to glance warily over his shoulder; a habit which had earned him curious stares and a crick in his neck. The feeling was constant, persistent; it was a melody which played itself relentlessly over and over again behind his furrowed brows. On this particular afternoon, however, Nigel Harper had forgotten the tune.

Expect one or two new chapters released weekly!