Epilogue
Ferris
I have a stalker.
I don’t think my stalker knows that I know. But I do. I’ve seen them. I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman. They’re always in the shadows. Just a glimpse and they’re gone again.
Then, there are the kisses. Like, Hershey fucking kisses. I find the wrappers in my bushes and shit. Why? No goddamn clue. I don’t eat them and I don’t know anyone who just carries them around in their pockets. That’s freaking weird.
Maybe I should get cameras. It’d be a good idea. But… Nobody ever said I make good decisions. My life is boring and I’ve found myself looking out the window at night, looking for them.
Why would someone stalk me? I was probably the most unremarkable guy in existence. Mostly, I sat in my favorite coffee shop with my laptop. I wrote mystery and thriller novels, which might explain my morbid interest in this person who could very well be dangerous.
So, yeah. I have a stalker. And right now, they were standing under the tree at the edge of my property while I sipped my coffee and acted like I didn’t know they were there.
I sucked in a breath when they took a step forward. They looked smaller than I thought they would, but in their dark clothes it was difficult to make out any specifics. Suddenly, their face lit up. Two green Xs for eyes and a stitched mouth.
Was this an official introduction?
It was very likely this was going to get me killed.
Might make a good book, though.