Glancing behind me, I see a slender man with his hood up a few metres behind me. Too far to identify if he’s someone I know, with the way his hood shades his face from the light.
He’s probably just using the same street.
I quicken my pace. So does he. My stomach tightens as his footsteps pound the floor behind me.
You’re just being paranoid.
The night feels icier; it’s chill tightening around my fingers. They ache as I take my keys from mycoat pocket, placing them between my fingers with the points sticking out like little knives.
I want to turn and stand my ground, to demand he pull down his hood and tell me who he is. But I have no idea who he actually is, or whether he’s even following me.
It’s not like the city doesn’t have its share of weirdos outside, note-sending ghosts from my past.
Get to a safe space.
Make noise if he grabs you.
Don’t let him take you to a second location.
The safety advice thrums through my head with every step. I’m close to home now. Just need to get to the alley and get into the flat.
He’s closer now. The footsteps behind me have my pulse thumping. I’m considering running when someone steps out of a shadowy side street up ahead.
Tall.
Dark.
Masked.
I stop dead, my breath clouding between us as I stare up at the two hearts.
He’s not looking at me, though. His focus is set over my head at the man behind me. I step behind Heart Eyes and turn, feeling the rage rolling off him in palpable waves.
‘Run home.’ His voice is tight, andthe demand in it raises my pulse in an unexpected way. I put it down to adrenaline.
The man’s frozen up ahead, his face still shadowed from view. Silence stretches between the three of us until it breaks, with the follower turning and taking off the way he came.
Heart Eyes turns to me for a second, his voice a deep growl as he says, ‘Go home, Kat. Now.’
I can’t argue, as he’s off running, chasing after the wiry guy who was clearly following me. The note maker, perhaps? I sure as hell hope so, otherwise I’m collecting stalkers like they’re fucking Pokemon.
My breath is tight until I make it back to my flat, locking the door behind me and wishing Ellie was home. We’re like ships in the night, with her working evenings until late, and my studying through the afternoons and well into the evening.
I check the lock twice before pulling my curtains tight across each window and shutting the doors leading to the central living space.
Tucked up onto the sofa, losing myself amongst the cushions, I finally, for a moment, feel safe.
The police station is four minutes from the flat. I checked after the first note, weighing up whether to go to them. Realistically, what would they do? Dredge up the past and make me face it? Or more than likely, put the note down as a childish prank and tell me to come back when things get worse.
Like when I’m good and dead, then they’d look into it.
I’m still on the couch, even though it’s nearly two hours since I got home. I’ve made a tea, and let it go cold, my stomach flip-flopping every time I try to take a sip. The problem is, thingsareescalating. What did the man following me want?
YOU’RE NEXT
Nothing good.
I pick up my phone and unlock the keypad. I should call 999. Or the non-emergency line, I suppose, being that Heart Eyes has scared the fucker off for now.
