JANUARY 17TH, 1989

Tuesday. The second day of the week — another day of school. The frost nipped at your skin on the walk to school. You dragged yourself out of bed, sighing dismally that morning. But not because of more gruelling hours of lessons — you had something to expect they believed was much worse than that.

Another one of your unnerving advances. Unfortunately for you, they didn’t know who they came from. Somehow finding out would be much worse, despite that desperate itching that rest in the back of your mind to know. Instead of that relief to get a few minutes to prepare before lesson, only felt dread as you approached your locker. You opened ir. A note.

“Your hair smells good.”

That messy, box-like handwriting made you shiver just like every time before. It was all you could think about when staring at the empty page of your school books — you couldn’t recognise it. Did you knew this person? Did they just change their handwriting? This one wasn’t as bad as some of the others though. However, the dead fly taped to the note was definitely more unsettling. How did they even know what your hair smelled like?..

This had been happening for over a month. 48 days, you were counting. 48 days of your pencils going missing along with other things on your desk. 48 days of avoiding your locker out of fear that they had passed by it again. You felt insane for tying everything to this pervert, even things in your house. You had to shake your head when you found yourself connecting all your clothes going missing to never be found and swearing that you'd closed their door before you left the house to this creep.

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English. First lesson of the day. You sat at the back ever since the teacher had to force some people to be moved seats. Unfortunately for you, when you entered, it had changed. Your seat was the same! but, someone else sat next to you — Patrick Hockstetter.