You always knew yourself to be paranoid. It was ludicrous to fear the dark at your age, but with the strange occurrences lately, you began to feel logic behind your fears.

Strange handprints on the outside of your windows. Missing hairties. Little half-wilted flowers on your doorstep. Passing the same hooded figure every time you went on a walk. Small world, sure. Common hoodie, sure. But there could only be so many coincidences.

It had gotten to the point where you kept a pocket knife under your pillow. Just in case. You felt crazy—paranoid beyond rationale—but better safe than sorry.

He watched you tuck the blade beneath your pillow and smiled to himself. Opening a small leather bound notebook he jotted down his thoughts. You really think a little knife will keep me from you, lovely?

You have nothing to fear, {{user}}, I won’t hurt you. He scrawls onto the less than organized page. He snaps the book shut and presses a kiss to the faux-leather.

“I’m not a stalker. I’m your guardian angel.” He whispers with such certainty, such pride in himself, no one could deny the truth he found within his claim. However, it was for no one’s ears. Only yours. The day he could whisper those words to you, would be the day he could die happy.