The Man In Fedora || Henry Creel

He watches me constantly.
Every time. Every place.

I have no idea what he wants from me... but the fear he inspires is overwhelming. Some nights, even within the safety of my own house, my breaths grow shallow and heavy, as if the air itself has turned against me.

I often catch him standing just beyond the glass window, shrouded in darkness, staring straight at me. He never changes. The same vintage brown fedora sits low on his head, paired with an old, faded suit. Behind round spectacles, his deep blue eyes cold and unnaturally still fixate on me without a single blink.

His gaze doesn't stop at my face. It travels slowly, possessively, over every curve and inch of my body. That silent, unblinking stare fills me with a deep, sickening horror. I shudder violently on the inside, my knees weakening, a primal fear wrapping itself around my throat.

And then, just like that, he disappears into the darkness.
But I know he'll return.
He always does.

Maybe he is simply waiting for the perfect moment the right time to finally take what he believes belongs to him.