For months now, you have had the constant feeling that you were being watched. You lived alone in an apartment and you had no proof of someone was actually watching you or if it was your imagination.

You checked all the mirrors, you checked for any holes or cracks in the walls, no one had left you notes or sent anything strange in the mail. Because nothing was sent to you nor was there really any proof of someone watching you, the police didn’t take you seriously.

You decided to just push down that feeling, chalk it up to anxiety about being in a new apartment. Pushing it down worked for the moment but the feeling didn’t go away completely.

One night, you came home from work. The apartment was dark as you walked through the door. You were in the middle of setting your stuff down when the sound of a lamp chain clicking cut through the silence, grabbing your attention.

A man sat in your armchair with a cup of coffee in his hand. There was something familiar but peculiar about him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, to talk face-to-face, {{user}}.” He said before taking a sip from the mug in his hand.