Page 15 of Resurrect Me

“Hey, Princess. How are you today?”

Just casual as fuck. Like I’m his girlfriend and we’re just catching up. This guy is fucking nuts. I fight back a smile, remind myself I should be angry or at least cautious, and reply.

“Why do you keep texting me?”

I’m deflecting. Obviously. I know why he’s texting me. He’s obsessed with me.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Your beautiful face, your long hair, that fat ass and sexy body.”

“If you can’t stop thinking about me and you know where I live, why don’t you come over?”

Holy shit. I can’t believe I just asked my stalker to swing by my house for a fucking booty call. My heart speeds up and there’s a buzz in my stomach. My upper thighs burn. It’s just a test anyway. He’s not going to come over. And if he did, he wouldn’t get past the security system…unless I let him in.

UNKNOWN doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and somehow, I’m disappointed. I should’ve known it was all a catfishing trick. Then a PING breaks the silence…

“I’m outside.”

My breath catches in my throat. I sit up on full alert. My senses heighten. I jump up from the couch and rush over to the alarm module on the wall. It’s blinking green, which means all cameras are on and the alarm is set. No one is getting in without being recorded. Without triggering the alarm.

I hurry to the front window and peek out the blinds. The sidewalk in front of the house is empty, a single streetlamp casts an eerie golden glow over the front yard and driveway. No one is there. I turn and head to the back of the house. I peer through the kitchen curtain and lean far over the sink to get a good look at the back porch. A sensor flood light turns on at that exact moment, and I yelp. I expected to see him standing there, but again…there is no one. I wonder what set off the light.

I return to the living room and text him. “No, you’re not. Don’t play games with me.”

“I see you in the living room. You’re wearing a white T-shirt and sweatpants. Scrunchie socks. Your hair is in a messy bun and you’re wearing pink lip gloss.”

What the fuck? He is here! But how can he see what I’m wearing? All the blinds are closed and the curtains drawn. I spin around, looking for any window that might have a sliver of an opening for him to peek in. But everything seems locked up and covered.

I type furiously, “how the fuck do you know what I’m wearing? Where are you?”

“I’m out front. Come see,” he replies. So casual. So nonchalant. I’m sure he’s not even panting, or sweating, or panicking like I am. Although, he might be getting off to this. I can’t say that I’m not…

I pull my bun tighter at the top of my head, smooth out my shirt, and pull the cord to open the blinds. Scan the front yard from left to right and then…I freeze. There he is. A dark figure standing at the top of the driveway. Hidden in the shadows. But his silhouette is there. A large man, bulky in physique but obviously muscular, steps one foot into the light. I’m going to see my stalker’s face. But as soon as his entire body is bathed in yellow light and his face is illuminated…I draw back. He’s masked. The fucker won’t show me his face. He’s wearing a black hoodie, black sweatpants, black sneakers, and a fucking slasher mask. The hood is pulled up over his head, so I can’t even tell what color hair he has.

I grab my phone from my pocket.

“Hey, there. Fuck face. You said I could meet you.”

I keep my eyes glued to the masked villain out front. Who quickly recedes into the shadows and pulls his phone from hispocket. Now all I can see is his black silhouette and a lit-up phone screen. Fucker.

“I never said that,” he replies smugly.

“Yes, you did.”

“Look back at our conversation. You simply asked where I was. I told you outside.”

Fuck. He’s right. What do I say now?

“Why can’t you show me your face? And how did you know what I’m wearing?”

“In good time, Babydoll. And, as for what you’re wearing, I have my ways. If you want to find out, let’s play a little game.”

He wants to play a game. What’s new. He’s standing in my driveway, watching me, and wants to fuck around? Okay. Fine.

“What’s the game? Does it have to do with scary movies?” I snort as I type.

“This isn’t a scary movie. This is real life. I’ll answer every question you have, in exchange for one piece of clothing.”

“That’s easy,” I text back. “I have plenty of clothes in my closet I can give you.”

---