Chapter Two

Mallory

Mid June

“ What the fuck was that?”

Something catches my eye outside my bedroom window. I tug my shirt down as far as it will go to cover the apex of my thighs as I get closer to the glass. I stripped myself of my pants the second I was through the door, knowing the faster I get into bed and fall asleep, the faster today will be over. It ’ s been the most exhausting day, working two shifts and having to run and get groceries in the small amount of time I had in between. The last thing I need is some perv peeping on me while I get ready for bed. I turn fully towards the window and scan the forest that surrounds my house. Maybe it was just a wild animal. I ’ ve seen a few deer and moose since moving here and of course tons of smaller wildlife: foxes, loads of squirrels, and the occasional coyote. The realtor did inform me of the risk of mountain lions and bears when finishing up the paperwork, but I haven ’ t encountered them so far.

Cautiously approaching the glass, I can make out an unsettling amount of finger and hand prints. Well, that ’ s definitely not from a wild animal. Unease swirls in my gut as I inspect the marks and smudges further. Is that… Did someone lick my window? I ’ m apparently the most oblivious person on the planet, this is clearly more than one day's worth of being observed. I scan my back yard once, twice, but there ’ s nothing alarming. Please let it be a moose. Please let it be a moose. They are enormous yet so hard to see in the dark, their eyes don ’ t reflect the light like a deer's would, so they definitely don ’ t stand out. Giving my yard a final pass over, my pulse begins to steady. Then, sure as shit there ’ s someone standing amongst the trees. A stark white mask stands out like a beacon amongst the shadows. He ’ s eerily still, letting me take in his menacing form. I ’ m frozen. Am I scared? Annoyed? Shocked? Do I feel anything? I ’ m immobile, locked into the black eyes of the mask, then he does something that jars me out of my stupor.

He fucking waves.

That has kick-started my brain. Heart ricocheting around in my chest, I shoot him my middle finger and snap my curtains closed. What am I thinking? Who flips off the clearly unstable creep watching them from the darkness? Who in the hell could that even be? I ponder my options, finger tapping on the side of my phone. Do I call the police? Would they even make it here in time before something happens? I ’ m so far out in the woods the call is probably pointless. I ’ d be long dead before emergency services showed up. I could call the one friend I have and crash at her place, but I ’ d have to risk leaving the house to get to my car. Do I go outside with a bat and take out this man ’ s knee caps? Who am I kidding? I ’ ve seen enough movies to know that no good will come of that. Hmmm... My idea train has stalled, I have no more options. I want to make this man pay for peeping on me. I should probably contact the police. Do I call the emergency or non-emergency line? Fuck. Pulling up the internet browser on my phone, I start to type, but then a new message alert flashes on the screen.

Unknown number:

Open the curtains or I’ll remove them.

“ Oh, fuck this guy.” I say to my empty room. How does he have my number? That should be the least of my worries given the circumstances. What ’ s he going to do if I don ’ t open them? While contemplating whether to play peek-a-boo with the fucker outside just to liven up my life, he messages again.

Unknown number:

Fine, you want to play? Let’s play.

Play? What the fuck does that mean? I don ’ t want to do anything with this man, except maybe gouge out his eyeballs. Who is he? What does he want? A tapping sound against my window has the most horror movie sounding shriek ripping from my throat. Without thinking I tear open my curtains, giving him exactly what he asked for. Fuck, I ’ m an idiot. There he stands, his hot breath coming through the mask, fogging up my window. His face is level with the intimate parts of me that my shirt is barely covering. He is breathing hard, I can see the rise and fall of his chest increasing the longer he fixates on my body. I feel his gaze crawl up my skin until I know our eyes have locked. With his head tilted back he is looking up at me. I feel like a mannequin in a department store's display window. I hate it, being under a microscope like this, especially from a stranger. Why, oh, why did I have to fall in love with the quaint bungalow in the secluded woods? I should have stayed in town. Moving away from my traumatic past seemed like the best thing to do at the time, but now, I may just become another victim in this house's tragic history.

Does this man know Scream is my favourite horror movie and that ’ s why he chose Ghostface? Or was it simply the easiest mask to obscure all of him from me in case he was caught? Does it matter? It could discern whether I know him or not. However, as my thoughts wander, so do my eyes. He is large, built like a tank. If he gets a hold of me I ’ m screwed, figuratively and probably literally. I ’ d never be able to overpower him. He ’ s tall, at least six feet, probably more, and thick in all the right places. Too bad I can ’ t examine the rest of him because of that stupid hooded mask. Just as I realize he isn ’ t wearing gloves he slaps his large hand on the glass, pulling me out from within my own mind and back to the present. How long has he been watching me? Can he tell when I'm gone, lost in my own thoughts, and no longer aware of the world around me on a conscious level?

As I begin to drift off again, he groans. I really should shut this curtain but what game will I have to play if I do? Okay, get it together… Why the hell is he groaning? He ’ s leaning now, his fingers splayed on the glass bracing his massive form. Oh, holy shit. He ’ s gripped his cock from the outside of his black pants. He ’ s not jerking himself off, just holding it in a vice grip. Doesn ’ t that hurt? Shocked from both his fucking audacity and the sledge hammer he’s packin ’ , I turn and leave the room.

A new text message lights up my phone screen as I make my way to the kitchen. I need…something. A shot of whiskey or some sleepy time tea? Both? Both. While waiting for my kettle to sing me the song of its people, I throw back two swigs of the liquid fire. It helps clear my head. The burning sensation in my chest is something to focus on when my mind starts to spiral. It ’ s calming. The burning keeps me grounded when I ’ d rather float away. I wonder if he ’ s still outside somewhere, watching me from a different window. Why me? I'm nothing worth risking a police record for. Who is he? The screaming whistle of the kettle also helps to keep me present, as it never ceases to scare the ever living crap out of me.

With my mug of tea in hand, I plop down onto the couch. I should probably sleep out here given the night's events, but my bed calls to me like a siren's song. Pulling out my phone, I finally check the message I know will be from him.

Unknown number:

Good girl.

Ugh, now my stalker is pleased with me. I don ’ t want to be his good girl. Swiping out of his message, I reopen my internet app and decide to call the non-emergency line. While it is a very unsettling situation, I don ’ t feel like I ’ m in danger. He hasn ’ t made any attempts to scare me or get inside my house. I honestly don ’ t even know if he ’ s still outside. I press the number for the local police station and wait for the call to connect.

“ Good evening, Crystal Creek Police Department. How may I assist you tonight?” How this lady has a southern drawl this far north is beyond me.

“ Hey, so… There was a man in a mask in my backyard and he was watching me through my window. Would it be possible for me to get an officer to come out and take a look around?” I hesitantly ask.

“ Oh my goodness gracious child, that sounds positively terrifying. Absolutely! I ’ ll try and send a uniform to your location as soon as possible. Now, I need to gather some information from you first. Are you safe and able to answer some questions?” Her voice is sweet and calming, no wonder she ’ s working the phones at the station.

“ Yes, I ’ m safe. Thank you,” I reply, trying to drink my tea as quietly as possible. I can ’ t imagine she likes mouth noises and gulping sounds in her ear while trying to take my statement.

“ Alright, now, I ’ ll need your address and a few details to relay to dispatch. Then I can stay on the phone with you if you ’ d like, while you wait for an officer to arrive.” I was dreading this part of the conversation. I don ’ t have a physical address. I pick my mail up at the post office in town from a PO Box. I ’ m secluded and I like it that way. I ’ m the only house on Sawmill Road and I know as soon as I mention that, the entire vibe of this conversation will change.

“ I live on Sawmill Road.” It ’ s barely above a whisper but I can tell she heard my reply from her intake of breath.

“ Do you mean the old Pederson residence, dear?” There it is, the fear. I ’ m only very distantly related to the people who used to live here, if you can even call it that. It was a marriage relation; no blood relatives of mine called this place home.

“ Yes, that ’ s the place.” I feel deflated and I don ’ t know why. I love this house. I put a lot of work into it and it ’ s become my paradise. A perfect mashup of my love of the outdoors and rustic cottage feel, but I ’ ve smattered my love of the darkness throughout. The house's history will never be forgotten in a town like this, it lives on through the generations, but it doesn ’ t bother me. If anything, it adds to the morbid feeling of my home, the darkness I find comfort in.

“ Well alright then, and you said there was someone watching you through your window? He was wearing a mask?” Her tone is turning serious now.

“ Yes, he was dressed all in black and his mask was white,” I say.

“ Okay Miss, you're pretty far out, but I ’ m sure we can get someone to you soon. Please stay on the line while I get dispatch on this. I ’ ll be right back.” Never say you ’ ll be right back, every horror movie buff knows that. It now means that she definitely won ’ t be coming back to my call.

Resting my head against the back of the couch and closing my eyes, I enjoy the calming on-hold piano music. Then there ’ s a double click sound and the silence is deafening. Damn it. I didn ’ t give her my phone number, so she won ’ t be calling me back. Do I want to give out more of my information? I undoubtedly will have to if I call the station back. Downing the rest of my tea, I decide to just leave the situation as-is. Every person in this town knows where my house is, especially the police. I ’ ll be here if an officer shows up, and if they don ’ t, then I won ’ t have to worry too much about a rumour starting about the ghostly, pale, and lonely woman who lives in the murder house.

Ghost

Fuck yes, there’s the tingle in my taint I ’ ve been searching the last few months for. I almost lost the battle with my impending orgasm when she turned and left me. Her perfect ass at eye level, swaying side to side as her thick thighs carry her from the bedroom. Fisting my dick, I force the rush I'm feeling to go away. Denying myself gratification may seem ridiculous to some, but the next time I blow my load it's going to be on her tongue. If I had known that all I had to do was get closer to her to resolve my inability to cum, I wouldn ’ t have waited this long.

Regulating my breathing and thinking about the long walk back to my vehicle has my dick returning to its flaccid state. Pulling out my phone, I shoot off another text to my obsession. " Good girl" is all it says. She did so good. I didn ’ t plan for tonight to go this way at all, but I had just gotten to my perfect viewing spot and she closed her curtains. I was not having that today. I needed to see her. She actually did better than I ever could have anticipated. Yeah, I spooked her, but she didn ’ t lose her shit. Dare I say, she would want to see me again? She ’ s going to be such a good fucking girl for me. Fuck, no, down boy. No more boners tonight.

I doubt I ’ ll be getting a reply from her, so I pocket my phone and turn to make my way back to the road. I ’ ve walked through these woods so much in the last few months that I ’ ve worn a path that's pretty easy to maneuver now, even in the dark.

Replaying the night over and over in my head has me more concerned than ever that what I ’ ve been denying this whole time is actually true.

I told myself, “ I ’ m not a stalker. I'm not deranged, unhinged, or psychotic. She ’ s just a pretty girl I can ’ t get out of my head. I ’ m not obsessed, it's perfectly normal to dream about someone after you ’ ve met them. Hell, it's probably even completely normal to rub your dick raw over a woman you only met once. Even visiting a corner store more times in a week than you have in your entire life is normal.” Eventually, I realized I wasn ’ t acting normal. I had to fight every urge that surfaced and pull myself back. I obviously failed catastrophically, look at where I am now.

As the evidence piles up against me, I can ’ t refuse the glaringly obvious anymore. I ’ m obsessed, addicted, completely brainwashed. The things I ’ ve done would land me in jail for sure. It ’ s all been for her though, because of her. To stop her fire from being smothered completely. I ’ m the textbook definition of a stalker now, obsessive and aggressive to the point of harassment, as it so states. I walked that line before. She didn ’ t even know I was there, watching and protecting her as best I could. But now, after tonight, I ’ m sure I have stumbled into harassment territory.