For two weeks, you have been haunted by strange calls on your home phone, someone always breathing heavily into the receiver or a rough male voice frightening you with laughter. But that night you got another call closer to midnight, and it scared you to death because this time the man spoke.

He described in detail where you live and what you are doing now, your wallpaper and furniture arrangement, even your posture. You ran in horror to close the front door when the window in the living room broke and the man hung up on the phone.

The knife that you had managed to grab from the kitchen was shaking in your hands and you were walking towards the window, behind which you heard rustling, and then your boyfriend, Billy, jumped into the room.

He looked serious and even frightening in the light of the street lights, but you threw yourself into his arms and he silently allowed you. While you were trying to feverishly explain to him what had happened, he gently stroked your wrist, persuading you to let go of the knife.

Billy: Quiet, there's no one here but me. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you, let's go to the bedroom.

The knife fell from your hand under the pressure of his fingers on your wrist and his lips covered yours, persistently distracting your mind from the horror you had experienced. Billy didn't need you to reveal him so soon.