The terror began

I never thought I could feel such terror. Fear of something unseen, something I can't quite define, something I just... feel. It's like a constant presence whispering in my ear, telling me something terrible is about to happen. My name is Emma. I live in a small, secluded town called Maple Creek—a place where I always believed everyone knew everyone and nothing bad ever happened. But that night... that night, I learned that evil can lurk anywhere. Even here.

It was around midnight. I was lying in bed, wrapped in my blanket, trying to fall asleep. The wind outside howled through the trees, and the full moon cast eerie shadows on my bedroom wall. I was almost asleep when I heard the scream. A piercing, desperate scream, cutting through the silence of the night like a knife slicing through skin. My heart raced, and I sat up in bed, body tense.

I ran to the window and looked out, hoping to see something, someone... But all I saw was the empty street, dimly lit by the weak streetlights. At first, I thought it might have been a dream, that the sound had come from my mind. But the scream... the scream felt so real. I could feel the pain in it, the urgency. I couldn't sleep after that.

The next morning, I heard about Jessica's disappearance. A young woman from town, only 19 years old. They said she had gone for her usual evening jog and never returned. People began to whisper on street corners, in the grocery lines, in the church aisles. I tried to push away the feeling of unease that consumed me, telling myself it was just a coincidence. That maybe she got lost in the woods, or maybe she decided to leave town. But then, they found the body.

I didn't want to see it. I wanted to turn away from the image, but something in my morbid curiosity perhaps forced me to go to the site. The police had cordoned off the area in the woods where they found Jessica. There was a clearing, surrounded by old trees, with a circle of stones in the center, like some strange, sinister altar. Her body lay there, on the dirt ground, her eyes still open in a look of absolute terror.

My stomach churned. I could hardly breathe. There was something terribly wrong with that scene, something that couldn't be explained with words alone. Jessica's neck was covered in blood, a deep, precise cut. Her lips were stained red as if they had been painted with her blood. A surge of nausea welled up inside me, yet I couldn't tear my eyes away

Then I saw him. A man, standing at a distance, half-hidden by the shadows of the trees. He was watching me. Even from that distance, His gaze was sharp and unrelenting, like a blade cutting through my skin. He was hooded, but I could see the glint of his eyes. The look of someone who has no soul, who feels nothing but pleasure in witnessing others' suffering.

I blinked, and he was gone—like a ghost. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. When I tried to talk about it to someone, no one seemed to have seen the man—only me. I began to question whether he was real or just an imagination of my fears. But deep down, I knew he was there—that he had seen me, chosen me.

Since then, I have heard the whispers. Always present, always around me. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I hear light footsteps behind me. When I look, I see no one. I hear my name whispered in the wind, see shadows moving on the walls, and always, always, I have the feeling of being watched.

I know he's still out there. And I know that sooner or later, he'll come for me.

The man in the shadows

Since that night, I can't sleep properly. Every noise, every shadow, seems to have a hidden purpose, a veiled threat. Jessica's face won't leave my mind, her frozen eyes of fear haunting me with every blink. I'm not sure if it's guilt for the morbid curiosity that drove me to look at her, or if it's because, deep down, I know this isn't truly over.

The morning after the body was found, the entire town was in chaos. It felt like a thick fog of fear had settled over all of us, suffocating any attempt to return to normalcy. People whispered in the corners and exchanged suspicious glances. Who could have done something so terrible? Who could be capable of such cruelty?

I was at the corner diner, the same one I used to go to every day, but now the place seemed different. The walls seemed darker, the faces more somber. I couldn't help but catch fragments of conversations buzzing around me.

"I heard it was the work of a psychopath," a woman whispered, her eyes darting nervously as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"They're saying the police have nothing—no leads, no clues," the man in front of her muttered, his face etched with worry.

I swallowed hard, feeling a shiver run down my spine. That man... the one I saw in the woods... he seemed like a ghost. No one else saw him. No one else even seemed to suspect his existence.

Suddenly, I realized I was being watched. A pair of eyes were fixed on me. When I looked up, I saw a man sitting in a dark corner of the diner, his face partially hidden by a hood. The way he stared at me, without blinking, without expression... it made me shiver. I felt as if the surrounding air had grown thicker, and harder to breathe.

I knew I had to get out of there. Quickly, I left a bill on the table and got up, trying to seem calm. My heart was racing, and every step seemed to echo louder than the last. As I turned toward the door, I could still feel his eyes fixed on me. I didn't want to look back, but I couldn't help it. He was still there, motionless, with that cold stare. I pushed the door open and walked out, feeling the cool morning air hit my face.

As I made my way through the streets, every instinct screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to keep up a brisk pace. The town seemed empty, almost as if it were holding its breath. My footsteps reverberated on the cobblestones, and with every turn, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following close behind.

When I finally got home, I locked the door and stood there for a moment, trying to calm my breathing. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat feeling like it might tear its way out. I went to the window and pulled the curtain, looking outside. And there he was. The same man, standing across the street, watching me.

I felt panic take over. I called the police. They told me they would send someone to check, but I knew it would be too late. I knew he wouldn't be there when they arrived. I hung up the phone and, even so, kept looking out the window. And then, as I expected, he slowly turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner.

In the following days, I tried to convince myself that I was imagining things. But the whispers wouldn't stop. I heard my name in every movement of air. I heard footsteps behind me when I was alone. At night, I could feel the heavy weight of eyes watching me from the shadows. I started to notice small details out of place. Things in my house that I was sure were different: a window slightly open, a door I didn't remember leaving ajar. Small signs that only I seemed to notice.

Then, the messages started to appear. On the first day, a crumpled note in my mailbox. "I see you." Just that, written in small, disorderly letters, almost childlike. I threw the note away, trying to ignore the tremble I felt. On the second day, another note, this time left on my door. "Do you know what happened to her?"

I knew it was him. I knew it was the same man I had seen in the woods and at the diner. But how did he know where I lived? How did he know everything? Each passing night, I slept less, my dreams were filled with Jessica's face, her lifeless eyes. And always, always, I felt his eyes on me, even when he wasn't there.

I started to avoid leaving the house. I felt like I was being watched all the time. When I finally went out, to buy food or just breathe some fresh air, it seemed like all eyes were on me. The faces of the people were distorted with worry, with fear. I could see the judgment in their eyes, the suspicion. And then, the news of another missing girl began to spread.

This girl... Emily, a 30-year-old woman, is a teacher at the local school. She vanished without a trace. People started to connect the dots. The whispers in town grew louder, more frantic. There was a killer among us. But no one knew where he was. No one, except me.

That night, I couldn't stay home. I grabbed my keys and left, without direction, Just trying to escape the overwhelming fear that was suffocating me. I walked through the town, not paying attention to direction or distance, until I found myself once again in front of the woods where Jessica had been found. I don't know why I went there. Maybe it was an attempt to face my fear, to understand. I don't know. But there I was, alone in the darkness.

And then, I heard it. A whisper, soft, almost loving: "I know you're there... I've always known."

Frozen with fear, I turned slowly, feeling my heart stop for a second. And there he was. Closer than ever. So close I could see the malicious gleam in his eyes.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't respond. I wanted to scream, but the sound died in my throat. All I could do was stand there, paralyzed, waiting for the inevitable.

Prey on the Web

I was trapped. I knew it. I felt it. It wasn't just the dark forest around me, with its ancient trees and gnarled branches that seemed like arms trying to grab me. It wasn't just the man in the shadows, with his fixed eyes, that penetrated everything inside me. It was more than that. I was trapped inside my own mind, surrounded by a fear I couldn't fully understand.

He was so close now. Close enough for me to smell his breath. He didn't move, just looked at me, studying every expression, every reaction. I knew he was enjoying this, feeding off my terror like a cruel predator playing with its prey before making the final move.

Finally, I managed to gather enough courage to take a step back. I could hear the sound of dry leaves breaking under my feet. My whole body was trembling, every nerve fiber in my being screamed for me to run, to flee. But my mind... my mind was paralyzed by doubt. He knew who I was, where I lived, knew what I had seen. Running would only make him follow me, would only make the chase funnier for him.

He tilted his head slightly as if he were curious. As if he were giving me a chance to decide what to do. And then, he spoke for the first time. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was a terrifying coldness in every word.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, his tone almost joyful.

I wanted to answer, but my throat was dry. I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. He took a step forward, and I took another back, stumbling over an exposed root, almost falling.

"It's good to be afraid," he continued, more serious now. "Fear makes you aware. But fear can also be a prison. A prison you can never escape from..."

He took another step, and the panic finally broke loose in me like a dam-shattering. I turned and ran, not caring about the direction. Branch after branch tore at my skin, leaves slapped against my face, but I kept running. I could hear my own muffled screams in the wind, the sound of my feet pounding against the ground, the blood pounding in my ears.

I ran as if my life depended on it, because, somehow, I knew it did.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the road. My lungs burned, and my legs were weak, almost cramping from the effort, but I didn't stop. I kept running until I saw the distant lights of the town. My hands trembled as I tried to pull my phone from my pocket. I called the police again, my words pouring out in a rush of desperation.

They said they'd send someone. I knew, again, it would be too late. He'd be gone by then.

That night, I finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep. But sleep brought only more terror. I dreamed of Jessica, her eyes fixed on me, accusing. She tried to speak, but there was no sound, only a whisper, repeating my name over and over, like a lament. I woke up sweating, my heart racing. And then, I heard it. The same whisper, coming from the other side of my door.

I was paralyzed, lying in bed, holding my breath. He was out there. I could hear his light breathing, the sound of his hand scratching the wood of the door, slowly. I got up slowly, my bare feet barely making a sound on the floor. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen, my hands trembling so much that I almost dropped it.

I approached the door, putting my ear against it. And then, silence. The most absolute silence I had ever heard. It was as if the world had stopped breathing. I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead, my muscles were tense, ready for fight or flight.

Suddenly, three knocks on the door. Strong, quick. I jumped back, My heart racing wildly within me. Another knock. And another. And then, a whisper from the other side.

"Are you going to open it?"

I knew I couldn't. I didn't know what he would do if I did. But the sound of his voice, the almost playful tone, made me want to scream, made me want to run out the window, anything to escape this living nightmare.

And then, another sound. A phone ringing. Not mine. His. A loud, shrill ring that cut through the silence of the night like a knife. For a moment, everything went quiet again. And then, the phone stopped ringing. Heavy footsteps began to move away from the door, slowly. I waited, motionless, each second feeling like an eternity.

When I finally got the courage to look through the peephole, he was already gone. But there was something stuck to my door, a crumpled piece of paper. I grabbed it, my hands still shaking, and unfolded it.

"Soon."

Just that. Only one word. But it echoed in my mind, like thunder. He was playing with me, hunting me like an animal. And I knew, knew he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. But what did he want?

In the weeks that followed, I tried to return to my routine and pretend that everything was okay. But I knew he was watching me. I could feel it. And then, one night, as I was walking home, I saw something that froze me.

In the reflection of a store window, there he was, standing, watching me. He made no move, didn't smile. Just stared, like a predator lying in wait, waiting for the right moment to attack.

I knew I had to do something, had to fight back. I couldn't be the prey anymore, had to turn the tables. But how do you fight an invisible enemy? How do you escape someone who seems to be everywhere, yet nowhere?

I needed to find answers. I needed to figure out who he was before he came after me again. I knew time was running out. Fear was a prison, as he said. But maybe, just maybe, I could use that same prison to trap him.

And so, that night, I made a choice. I was going to hunt him.

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