Being Watched

              He is following again, I can feel it. That sensation deep in my gut that someone's watching me. It's been almost a mile and the feeling hasn't gone away. I close the door quickly behind me as I slip into my apartment, shaking the ancient frame like breath from terrified lungs. The click of the lock behind me is satisfactory, yes, but not at all calming. He always finds a way in. I reach out and grope along the wall for the light switch, at the same time taking off my shoes. i hear a soft click, a buzz, and the room fills with a soft yellow glow. A sigh of relief floats up from my lungs. Nothing's changed. Usually when he follows something has been moved, a small amount, maybe an inch or two. Maybe he was only following tonight, then. Maybe he would leave me alone. I hang my large black coat on the rack and wander into the kitchen. One of the drawers is open slightly, but I pay no attention to it. It must be broken. The refrigerator door protests with a loud creak as I open it. I scowl and berate myself for having forgotten milk. Of everything that I could have forgotten--- Wait. Something's missing. I stand straight up, my muscles coiling like springs in a mattress. His breath is on my neck, hot and foul, the stench of raw meat. I can feel the fingers of his right hand trailing slowly up my back, tracing every curve and bump in my spine. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes go wide. He knows it. I'm sure he can feel my heart racing, pounding against the tips of his fingers as his hand rests on my breast. A soft, terrified whimper escapes my lips, and he takes it as encouragement. His left hand tangles in my hair suddenly, yanking roughly on the back of my neck until my chin points straight at the ceiling. A yelp rips from my throat as he digs his nails into the back of my head. I hear a growl of pleasure. Suddenly he has me pinned, my body pressed hard between him and the fridge. He tears off my clothes with dirty hands, streaking my skin with grime where he touches me. I begin screaming, someone's bound to hear me, to come running. He cuts off my screams and stops my life short with the blade of his knife. Everything is black.


            I sit bolt upright in bed, my chest heaving great gulps of air into my lungs. My body is cold, sweat pours off my sides and my hair is wet. I tear myself away from the dream, tears welling up in my eyes. How could anyone be so horrible? So heartless. My mind is whirling. I open my eyes to find a knife, sharp and shining, hovering just above my throat. His eyes shine in the darkness, and I see no more. I guess some dreams come true after all.