I went to bed certain the intruder would return, my hand strapped to a torch so I was ready. I lay awake for hours, jumping at the slightest noise from outside. When I did sleep, I dreamed of him appearing in my flat and I jerked away, flashing my torch around the room like an automatic reflex.
I don’t know how, but I knew he was there, standing at the foot of my bed. I reacted in an instant and aimed the torch beam to identify him at last.
But even in the light, all I could see was a dark figure, a shadow. I stared him, waiting for identifying features to become clear, but none did. Then he stepped back into the shadows and vanished.
I woke up with a jolt and sat bolt upright. I stared into the darkness until my bedroom materialised in front of me. My eyes trained on a shape that shouldn’t have been there. A figure. A person standing in front of my bed.
I froze with fear, staring at the intruder, not even daring to blink. Then he took a step back. I couldn’t see him anymore. I scrambled for the torch on my bedside table and flashed the beam around the room. He was gone. But I wasn’t imagining it. I know he was there.
I was too afraid to get out of bed. I lay there, my heart hammering at my chest, waiting for him to return. I didn’t sleep.
I don’t know how he does it but he’s everywhere – at work, in my home and anywhere in-between. What does he want with me? One thing I know for certain is that he isn’t going away anytime soon.
I sat down at my desk and managed a serious writing session without his presence distracting me, but I’ve read it back and I’m still not happy with my work. I wonder what he thinks about what I write. I know he was watching.
This blog was just going to be about my struggle as a writer, but it has become far more important now. I can’t tell anyone what is happening to me because they would never believe me. But I have to get this out there as soon as possible, so if anything does happen to me, someone else will be able to put the pieces together. Whatever he has planned for me, I think it’s going to be any day now.
I need food. I haven’t eaten in days. No chance of an expensive takeout and I can’t afford a sugar or carb crash, so it needs to be something quick and healthy.
I went to work today. The boss took one look at me and said I should have stayed at home. But I had to be there.
Sitting at my desk, I could feel someone’s eyes watching me, taking in my every move. I stayed late and waited until everyone else had gone. I ransacked the office, then put everything back as it was. Nothing. I found nothing.
It happened. My imagination fired up. I grabbed my laptop and I wrote furiously, my fingers pounding on the keys, trying to keep up with the ideas flooding from my brain. I wrote until the sun rose. Then I collapsed and slept on the floor.
I haven’t moved since my last post. It’s dark again already. Everything I own sits in heaps on the floor around me. I haven’t found anything. No cameras. No listening devices. No holes in the walls, floors or ceilings. The doors and windows are secure. But someone is watching me. I know they are.
I did the only thing I could think of. I called in sick. I drank a load of coffee. And I turned my flat inside out. I tore the place apart.
It happened again. I lay awake in bed for hours last night, staring into the darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I turned over and over, trying to ignore it, but it was no use. I was sure I could sense a presence moving about in my flat. I wasn’t alone.
I was a zombie at work. I think people are starting to notice. My days at this place are numbered. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I can’t think clearly or function well enough to get another job after this one.