My fingers trembled so violently I could barely hit the right keys, but I forced myself to type anyway, my breath unsteady and shallow.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? What exactly do you want?"
The words stared back at me like a plea I already regretted sending. I waited, my heartbeat pounding so loudly it felt like it echoed in my bones. Seconds dragged into minutes, but the screen stayed silent. No reply. No typing dots. No sign of anything at all yet somehow that was worse. The absence of a response didn't calm me; it made the air feel denser, as if someone was holding their breath in the same room, watching me wait.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze that didn't feel real. I tried to distract myself, washed dishes I'd already cleaned, switched channels without watching, scrolled aimlessly through apps without reading a word, but every quiet moment left space for that message to wedge itself back into my mind. My thoughts kept circling the same questions: How did they get my number? Were they nearby? Had I ever met them before? Each time, panic tightened its grip a little more.
When I finally went to feed Jojo, he didn't even lift his head properly. He just stared at the bowl and turned away.
"What happened, baby?" I whispered, my voice soft and unsteady as I knelt beside him. I stroked his head gently, waiting for the usual happy tail wag or soft paw nudge, but there was nothing. No excitement. No response. His stillness made my heart sink in a different way, quieter but heavier. Panic over him layered itself over the fear I was already drowning in.
I didn't want to overthink it, but I couldn't ignore it either. So I scooped him into my arms and took him to the only place I trusted at this hour, the clinic.
The bright lights of the reception made everything feel too sharp, too sterile, almost unreal. I pushed open the door and spotted James, my senior, crouched on the floor playing with a golden retriever, his laughter echoing faintly against the walls. He looked up the moment he saw me.
"Hi, Venisa! What are you doing here at this hour?"
I closed the glass door quietly behind me and placed Jojo on the desk near the other dog, who perked up immediately, tail wagging with excitement. Jojo, however, didn't move. Didn't even blink in his direction, and the sight twisted something in my chest.
"Jojo's not feeling well," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. James's expression shifted instantly, the warmth in his eyes turned sharp and focused as he gently lifted Jojo into his arms and began a quick check-up. His calmness made me realize how tense I'd been holding myself.
After a moment, he glanced at me with concern. "How about you go get some rest? I'll take care of Jojo tonight."
I hesitated, my hands instinctively reaching out before I stopped myself. "Is it okay to leave him here?"
He gave me a small smile, the kind that said he knew exactly what I was feeling without me having to explain.
"I'm a doctor, Venisa. And you don't look good right now. Go home. I'll keep an eye on him."
There was a gentleness in his tone that disarmed my resistance. I managed a grateful smile. "Thank you."
Walking out of the clinic without Jojo felt like leaving a piece of myself behind. The street outside was quiet, the air colder than before, and every shadow looked longer than it should. I told myself I trusted James, and I did, but what unsettled me wasn't Jojo being away from me. It was the thought of going back to that apartment alone.
The closer I got to my neighborhood, the heavier each step felt. The streetlights cast long, empty beams down the lane, and my footsteps echoed too loudly against the pavement. As I turned into the alley that led to my building, I stopped so abruptly it felt like my heart slammed against a wall inside my chest.
There was someone standing at my door.
A tall figure, motionless, cloaked in a black hoodie pulled low enough to hide their face. They weren't knocking. They weren't trying to open the door. They were just…standing there. Staring at it. Silent. Still. As if they'd been waiting for something, or someone.
For a horrifying second, I couldn't breathe. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as my hands went numb at my sides. My legs felt glued to the ground, torn between instinct and paralysis. I blinked once, hoping I was imagining it, but the figure didn't disappear. The scene looked exactly like what Preeti had described to me earlier, down to the posture, the silence, the unnatural stillness.
I didn't know if I should walk forward…or run.
But I knew one thing with bone deep certainty,
that person wasn't there by accident.
They weren't knocking. They weren't trying to open the door.
They were just… standing there.
Frozen. Silent. Facing the entrance of my house like they'd been planted in the ground. Not breathing. Not moving. Not speaking. As if they were waiting, for the right second, the right sound… or the right person.
A cold pulse of terror shot through my spine.
My heart lurched so violently I thought it would rip out of my ribcage when he turned his head, slowly, deliberately, like he had known I was there the entire time. His movement wasn't startled or curious. It was intentional. Calculated. He didn't need to see me to sense me.
That was the moment I knew he hadn't followed me by accident. He had come for me.
With unhurried calm, he lifted his phone to his face. The glow from the screen barely lit the lower half of his features. He gave the device a single, silent shake, like a signal. A command. Check your messages.
Then, without a word, he turned his back to me and walked away. No rush. No fear. As though this sick game had only just begun.
My feet felt glued to the ground. I couldn't even breathe, much less move. The front door of my own house suddenly looked like the entrance to a trap. I didn't dare step forward. Long after his figure slipped beyond the corner and vanished, I stood there, useless. Frozen. Shaking.
And then it hit me.
I just let him go.
The realization punched the breath out of my lungs. I could've ended this. I could've run, grabbed him, ripped the mask off this entire nightmare. If I'd just had the courage, just an ounce more than the fear strangling me, I could've stopped all of it.
A raw frustration clawed its way up my throat. "No," I whispered to myself, my voice barely holding together. "Not again."
I forced my legs to move. My body felt like it was trying to wade through wet cement, but I ran anyway, toward the direction he disappeared. My fingers curled into tight fists. My lungs burned. Each heartbeat pounded so violently it echoed inside my ears.
The world around me twisted like a fever dream. The shadows stretched longer than they should. Every sound was wrong, distant, hollow. My own footsteps didn't even sound like mine, I felt like I was chasing a ghost through a nightmare that didn't want me to wake up.
I took the same turn he did.
Empty.
The alley looked untouched. No footsteps. No figures. Not even a flicker of movement. He was gone, as if he had never stood there at all. Not a shadow left behind.
"Fuck!"
The word broke out of me, too loud in the silence. I bent forward, pressing a shaking hand to the wall beside me, rage and panic twisting in my stomach.
I missed him.
I missed the only chance I had. Because I froze. Because fear wrapped its hands around my throat and squeezed until I couldn't move.
And now?
Now he knew exactly how much power he had over me.
I slammed the door behind me and locked it, more than once. My legs felt numb, barely remembering how to move as I crossed the room. The air inside my apartment was colder than outside, but my skin burned with leftover panic. I could still feel the echo of his stare clawing at the back of my neck.
My phone was still plugged in near the couch, exactly where I'd left it before stepping out. I yanked the charger out with shaking fingers and unlocked the screen.
One unread message. Unknown number.
I already knew who it was.
Message:
"What do I want?"
"Can't you guess it already?"
"You."
The word slammed into me harder than any knock on the door ever could. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. My throat was dry, but my skin was slick with sweat. It was freezing in the apartment, yet heat crawled under my skin like I was burning from the inside out.
This wasn't just someone watching me anymore. He was circling closer, closing in. The walls felt thinner. The silence felt staged.
This is getting out of control. I need to do something. I need help.
I should've called the police from the second this started. I should've shown them the messages. I should've filed a report, anything, before letting it get this far.
I opened my mouth to breathe, to steady myself, to think.
That's when another notification popped up.
The vibration against my palm sent an electric jolt through my spine.
Another message.
Same number.
I didn't want to look, but I did.
Message:
"Try reporting me… and Jojo will be unhappy."
Every sound in the apartment died. The air thinned. My vision tunneled.
Jojo.
My heart didn't just stop, it plunged.
He knew. He knew about them. He knew their name. He knew where to hit.
This wasn't fear anymore.
This was a warning.
And I was already too deep to pretend it would go away.
I gasped, and my knees nearly gave out. Another message had come through, a picture this time. My vision blurred before it sharpened in a painful rush, my fingers gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ached.
Jojo.
He was sitting in the corner of the vet's lobby, perfectly calm, completely unaware that someone was close enough to take his picture. His leash was curled by his paws, his ears perked like he was waiting. Waiting for me. My blood iced over, crawling through my veins like frostbite.
Someone had watched him. Someone had followed him. Someone had known exactly where he was.
A cold, electric panic shot through my body. The absence of Jojo, something that had only mildly bothered me earlier, now felt like a gaping hole, a warning I hadn't understood until it was too late.
My chest tightened painfully. I lowered myself to the floor, one hand pressed against my sternum as if I could hold my heart still. The room tilted, shadows stretching in ways they shouldn't.
"It's okay. It's okay. Don't panic," I whispered, but my voice shook so hard the words barely held shape. The reassurance fell flat in the silence. The fear didn't ease. It thickened, heavy, suffocating, alive.
My body moved before my mind could catch up. I snatched my jacket, keys, and phone, anything that felt like control, and stumbled toward the door. The lock clicked behind me, not that it mattered anymore. They'd already shown me how close they could get.
The night air hit like a sheet of ice the moment I stepped outside. My breath fogged in the dark, each inhale coming faster than the last. My thoughts collided, messy and jagged,
Who is he? How long has he been watching? Why Jojo? Why me? How did he know I was about to report him?
My legs were moving before I realized I'd started running. Each step cracked against the pavement, the sound too loud, too exposed. My pulse throbbed in my ears, syncing with the name that kept echoing in my head.
Jojo.
And then, guilt. Sharp. Unforgiving.
I remembered the way he'd whimpered when I left him with James. The way he'd looked back at me like he somehow knew I shouldn't go. And I went anyway. I left him. I left him vulnerable.
I won't leave him again.
The promise formed before I could think, my steps quickening, every sense sharpened by adrenaline and dread.
I didn't know where the stalker was.
But he knew exactly where to find us.
Every shadow looked alive.
The trees stood too still, the darkness too aware. A rustle of leaves behind me made my heart leap into my throat, and the faint echo of footsteps, real or imagined, made my legs move faster on instinct. I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting a silhouette, a figure, him.
But the street was empty.
Empty… yet not safe.
My pulse hammered against my ribs like it wanted out, and my hands trembled so violently I nearly dropped my phone. I didn't know if I should call someone, James? The police? A friend? Or if even dialing a number would make me more of a target.
What if he was listening? What if he knew every move I made the moment I thought it?
I tried to reason with myself, whispering pathetic attempts at logic into the cold night air. Maybe it's a prank. Maybe someone hacked my phone. Maybe a friend is being a sick idiot. But the memory of that photo, Jojo, quiet and trusting, someone close enough to capture him without being seen, burned every excuse to ash.
This wasn't a prank. It was too quiet, too precise, too personal.
I ran harder, cutting through empty streets that suddenly felt like hallways in a maze I hadn't agreed to enter. My breath came out in sharp bursts, my mind spinning faster than my feet.
Should I go somewhere crowded? Should I knock on someone's door? Should I call the police and risk sounding insane? Or worse, tip him off that I'm trying to fight back? Would they even listen? Or would they smile tightly, take a useless report, and tell me to "stay vigilant" while he watched from across the street?
I stopped at a corner, hands on my knees, lungs burning. Jojo's name echoed in my head, his small frightened whimper from earlier clawing up my guilt again. He's still at the clinic. He's still safe. For now.
What if James had already picked him up? What if someone followed them? What if they hurt him just to make a point?
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to scream into the street.
Then my phone buzzed.
The vibration slashed through the air like a blade.
I didn't want to look.
But I did.
Message:
"I'm following you. Don't worry. You're safe, and so is Jojo."
My blood turned to glass.
Safe.
Not because I was out of danger.
But because he was close enough to decide I was.
I stumbled backward so hard my jacket slipped from my hands and hit the ground. My brain blanked, numb, white, useless. My fingers fumbled around the phone, but my body wouldn't fully respond. It was like my limbs had forgotten how to move, how to choose, run or freeze.
Every instinct in me screamed go, but another voice, colder, sharper, whispered that running might not be enough this time. Not when he was already this close.
Then it hit me.
This wasn't fear anymore.
This was survival.
I spun around, heart in my throat, searching for a silhouette, a face, anything. But the street was empty. Not a single shadow out of place. Not a breath. Not a sign.
He could've been behind me.
He could've been beside me.
He could've been watching from the dark right in front of me and I'd never know.
My feet moved before the rest of me could think. I bolted toward the nearest side street, then another, my steps uneven and frantic. I didn't recognize where I was going, and I didn't care. I just needed distance. From him. From the street. From the idea of being seen.
All I could think about was Jojo. Protecting him. Getting him back. Keeping him alive. If anything happened to him because of me
I pushed the thought away before it could finish.
Streetlights flickered above me like they were struggling to stay awake. My breath came out in ragged bursts, sweat chilling under the cold air, my pulse so loud it drowned out my footsteps. But one thought kept looping through my head like a curse I couldn't outrun:
They know too much. They're closer than I think.
And in that moment, with that realization sharp and undeniable in my bones, I knew something terrifying,
Tonight wasn't the end.
It was the beginning.
My phone buzzed again. Same number.
Message:
"As long as you behave like a good girl, Jojo will be safe."
The words might as well have been a hand around my throat.
Not a threat.
A rule.
And I had already broken the first one...
I ran.
To be continued