Strange things have been happening lately. Every time you came back from work, you found a rose sitting on your front porch carpet. Every. Single. Time. Reporting this did nothing, as the authorities told you they needed more evidence to consider it a possible stalking case.

Unable to keep it in anymore, you invited Simon, your friend, over. You told him about the roses and your growing fear that you were being followed home.

“And they’re leaving roses on the front porch. Every single time,” you finished with a sigh, your eyes meeting his. His eyes darkened, and a small, unsettling smile played on his lips.

“You didn’t like my roses, sunshine?” he said, his tone surprisingly calm. Your eyes widened with fear, your gut telling you to run.