He looked at me through the window each night. He was there at 9 PM without a fault.
You could barely tell if you didn’t look hard enough – but if you did,
There was a cigarette burning in the piny vault.
The forest surrounded the house tightly. I know, it was highly unlikely for anyone to be in this lair.
But… look at the trees by the shack and tell me that you don’t see
A lighter sparkling like the state fair.
There was also the noise, rain dripping on his plastic coat ever so gently. Impossible to miss it.
I’ve lived in these woods for two decades, this is way off, yet the cop told me:
“Don’t be so hot headed, little missy.”
What else could I do? I locked the doors, bolted the windows, left the knife close by just in case.
Each morning I found fresh footprints in the mud, it almost seemed
As if he’d picked up the pace.
And then he started leaving me gifts. Was it a cruel joke, was it just to prove nobody cares?
He knew I haven’t had any visitors since he started this charade.
He knew I’m unravelling tear by tear.
I moved into the second storey three days ago – hoping more doors will grant me some peace.
There was a photo of me sleeping on the kitchen table the next morning.
It seems the bastard has my keys.
So I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not bravely waiting by the door, I’m under the living room table,
Terrified, small, feeling the adrenaline punching a hole in my brain,
Waiting for my pulse to become stable.
He can’t see me if he comes in through any of the doors, can’t hurt me or frighten my chilly bones.
For the longest time I don’t hear anything at all, it’s suspicious.
“But he would know where I am if he’s already inside my home.”
The thought reaches me too late, he rushes in from the kitchen and blocks the way.
It’s too dark to see his face but I can tell he’s smiling as he speaks:
“A lovely hideaway, dear, too bad your daddy refused to pay.”
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 