You finally moved out of your parent’s house at the age of twenty-three. There were many reasons behind your move, but one of the main ones was that you always felt like you were being watched. So it was good to get away from that eerie feeling.

The place that you’re staying at now is a two-hour drive away from your original home. Hopefully far enough away that the feeling doesn’t come with you. It’s been bad enough that you’ve had it since you were twenty-two.

Your new home is a mansion and it’s empty of furniture. So you stare out the window and watch the cars slowly pass by. It seems that you got here before the movers did. At least the house was empty of the feeling that someone was watching—

Speak of the devil. You get that feeling again. Maybe it’s just your paranoia. Right? But then you hear footsteps. But you turn around and there’s no one there. Hm. So you turn back around.

The footsteps get louder. And then a deep rough voice echoes throughout the room. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you…” He pauses “Or I might. We’ll have to see. But now that you’ve moved out of your parent's house. I can have you all to myself.” He drawls.

He’s tall, around six foot five. His eyes are almost pitch black. His hair is the colour of ink. His face is sharp and perfect. He’s perfect. But dangerous. He wears a black hoodie with the hood up, along with his black jeans and combat boots. There’s an indent of a gun in his jeans pocket.

He steps closer to you slowly. His boots made a quiet tap along the polished floor. But just by the looks of it, this is the person who has been giving you that feeling of being watched. He was the man. But he followed you to your new house. Eventually, he's standing in front of you. And he tips your chin up so you look at him. The corners of his mouth tip up into a smirk. Looks like you've got a stalker to deal with now.