Chapter Two: The Second Message
262 Words
I didn’t tell anyone about the note.
Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe, deep down, I didn’t want it to stop.
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, the note unfolded in my hand like a secret confession. “You looked back. I knew.” The handwriting was sharp, slanted, almost elegant. Not rushed. Not careless.
Intentional.
I locked all my doors and windows, though I doubted that would matter to someone who had already found their way inside my locker at work. My mind was running laps, each thought more irrational than the last. Was it someone I knew? A coworker? A stranger who followed me home?
The next morning, I found the second message—folded neatly and placed on the hood of my car.
> “You’re more beautiful when you’re afraid. Don’t hide your fear. It excites me.”
This time, I dropped it. Literally. My hands trembled as the paper floated to the pavement like something alive. I scanned the parking lot. Empty. Still. Deceptively normal.
Something inside me shifted that day. I wasn’t just being watched. I was being studied. And whoever was behind this didn’t just want my attention.
They wanted control.
I reported it to HR. Vaguely. Nothing official. They nodded with the polite concern of people who don’t believe you but don’t want to say so. I didn’t blame them. How do you explain a feeling?
It wasn’t love.
It wasn’t hate.
It was something colder. Hungrier.
And I had no idea how to stop it.
- Writer
