Through the Pages

Dear stranger,
Are you there? I know someone’s following me, I can hear footsteps… You aren’t very quiet. Well
maybe you are. Everyone else says I’m imagining things. I don’t think I am. Look, I don’t know why you’re
so interested in me, but could you just come out and talk to me? I’m sure you aren’t a bad person… Maybe
we would get along. Please just stop following me.

I leave the note taped to my front door. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a try. As much
as I hate to admit it, I’m curious about whoever’s following me. I want to talk to them, maybe get to know
them. They have to have some sort of reason as to why they’re following me and I want to know. It’s
beginning to consume my every waking moment. Whoever they are, I shouldn’t want to know them, but I
don’t care. I shake away my thoughts and turn to face the world.
Fall has always been my favorite season. The cooler weather, the cozy feeling that always comes
with it, and of course the darker aesthetics As I walk down the street, I hear leaves crunching under my feet.
It’s not just mine though, I can hear someone else walking behind me, but everytime I turn and look, there’s
nobody there. I can almost understand why my family’s calling me crazy about all this stalker stuff.
Sometimes I feel crazy without their input, but I just have this gut feeling that I can’t ignore. Someone is
watching me; I don’t know who, I don’t know how, but I know someone is there. A breeze stirs through the
air, and red and golden leaves swirl around me. The sun is bright, but the air still holds a permanent chill. I
can’t help but smile, even as I feel a tingle run up my spine. Eye’s are on me watching my every move. I can
almost see them smile with me as the weather warms my heart. They’re like me, whoever they are. It only
makes my curiosity about them grow. Do they know how badly I want to meet them? After they find my
letter I’m sure they’ll realize, but until then I have to deal with not knowing.
As the day goes on, my feeling of being watched only grows. I don’t think this mystery person
will ever leave me alone, but I’m not entirely upset with that fact. I go about the tasks I have set for myself.
It’s a relatively calm day. A cool October Saturday, easy to spend it wandering about. I do some simple
shopping and, as an indulgence to myself, I stop by the bookstore to browse. I wonder if the characters of
books ever think of the fact that they aren’t real? I know I’ve had that thought before, and I am a real person.
Maybe the characters feel just as watched as I do. The thought follows me home, but, when I reach my door,
they’re quickly erased. The note I had left behind is gone. My mystery person found it.