Chapter 6. The Watcher
The Watcher
I’ve been following you for hours. I saw you as you walked the beach and strolled the boardwalk. Why are you back here after all this time?
Honestly, I can’t believe you dared return. Brave, brave girl. But how brave are you? Are you daring enough to dig up the past? Is that what you’ve come here to do? If so, you might be bold, but you’re also foolish.
I watch you take it all in, exploring your old stomping grounds, a place that’s seeped into your soul the way the tide fills the salt marsh. You act like a kid at a carnival, awed by the deluge of colors, all the sights and smells, a symphony of sounds that lulls you into a false sense of security.
This place—so familiar—must also feel foreign. How long has it been? I suppose that’s not as important as what brought you here. Perhaps it was inevitable. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you’ve been lured back to where it all started—or ended, depending on whose perspective you take.
But what do you actually know? That’s what troubles me the most. This town may be small, but it holds many dark secrets.
And I am one of them. I’m invisible to you, just one in the crowd.
I’m everywhere and nowhere. I could be hiding in plain sight or lurking in the shadows.
Wherever you are, I’ll be there, around each corner, down every street, outside your house at night while you’re sleeping.
You won’t know where I am. You won’t realize how much danger you’re in.
I watch you linger by the shops on the boardwalk. You seem so uncertain—your hands are fidgety, your steps tentative. Are you scared? You should be.
It’s my mission to prevent you from discovering things you shouldn’t. You are a writer, after all. Have you come here chasing a story, or will one fall into your lap?
Either way, be careful what you wish for.