The Cage

I've been watched for weeks.
At first, I told myself it was paranoia. But then came the proof pictures. Shots of me sleeping. Changing. Showering. Shopping outside. Cooking in my kitchen. Every private moment stolen, frozen, and sent to my phone like a sick game.

My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my phone. My back was slick with cold sweat. The walls felt like they were closing in.

I went to the police, desperate, my voice breaking.
"Something's wrong. Someone's stalking me, watching me through cameras in my apartment, Please help me!"

I shoved my phone at them. The videos and photos were there, I swear they were.

The messages too-warnings, threats, promises that I'd be "taken soon."

Even the call logs, numbers I didn't recognize, all staring back at me. But the moment I tried to show the officers... it was gone. Every file, every text, erased before their eyes. Just empty folder like I had imagined this.

"No! It was right here!" I screamed, scrolling frantically, my voice echoing through the station. "Please, you have to believe me!"

I must have looked insane my hands trembling so violently the phone nearly slipped, my breath coming in ragged gasps, tears streaking down my face. I could feel people staring at me, judging, their eyes sharp and cold.

"Here under the light fixture! Behind the mirror! I saw the red light blinking!" My words tumbled out, choked and desperate.

The officers exchanged that look. Pity. Doubt. One leaned in gently, as if I might shatter.
"Ma'am... maybe you should calm down. You seem very distressed. Perhaps you should... see someone."

I felt like a madwoman, screaming into the void, begging anyone to believe me. Their eyes said it all, stupid, hysterical, a nuisance wasting their time.

But I knew what I saw.
And I knew I wasn't crazy.

...Or was I?