The Watcher

Sarah had always been an early riser. Her job as a nurse required it, and after years on the same schedule, her body woke her before the sun even began to rise. This morning was no different. As she shuffled into the kitchen, she flicked on the light and set the kettle to boil.

While waiting for her tea, Sarah glanced out the window. It was still dark outside, but she could just make out the silhouette of the large oak tree in her backyard, its branches swaying gently in the pre-dawn breeze. But something was different today. There, among the leaves, she saw a figure.

Her heart skipped a beat. It looked like a person, standing perfectly still in the tree. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the figure remained. It was too dark to see any details, just a shadow among the branches. Trying to shake off the uneasy feeling, she turned away from the window and busied herself with her tea.

As the water boiled, her curiosity got the better of her. She returned to the window and looked again. The figure had moved closer. It was now standing on the edge of the tree, seemingly staring straight at her. Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She considered calling the police, but the figure hadn’t done anything yet. Maybe it was just a prank, she thought, or perhaps a trick of the light.

She moved to another room, trying to focus on getting ready for work. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She checked all the windows and doors, making sure everything was locked.

When she finally stepped outside to leave for work, the air was crisp and cool. She glanced at the tree one last time. The figure was gone. With a sigh of relief, she got into her car and drove away.

The day at the hospital was long and exhausting. By the time Sarah returned home, it was already dark. She parked her car and walked to the front door, the events of the morning almost forgotten. As she fumbled for her keys, she felt a prickle of unease. She looked around but saw nothing unusual.

Inside, she turned on the lights and set her bag down. She was about to head to the kitchen when she noticed something on the floor: muddy footprints leading from the back door to the living room. Her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t made those.

She grabbed a kitchen knife and cautiously followed the footprints. They led to the living room, where they stopped abruptly. The room was empty. She checked all the windows and doors again, but everything was still locked from the inside.

Just as she was about to call the police, her phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. With trembling hands, she opened it. There was no message, just a photo. A photo of her, taken from behind, while she was standing in the kitchen that morning.

Panic surged through her as she realized the photo was taken from inside the house. She spun around, eyes darting across the room. And then she saw it: a pair of eyes, peering at her from the darkness of the hallway. The figure from the tree was inside her house.

The lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Sarah’s breath came in short, terrified gasps. She backed away slowly, clutching the knife, but she could feel the figure getting closer, could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

Suddenly, a cold hand clamped over her mouth, and a voice whispered in her ear, “I’ve been watching you.”

And that was the last anyone ever heard from Sarah. When the police arrived the next morning, they found her house empty, the only trace of her being the muddy footprints and a single, chilling note on the kitchen counter: “She was delicious.”