A Stalker? Watching Me? No Way.
Chapter One

You know, your life seems to get pretty interested when you find out someone likes you.

But not for me.

In my case, it wasn't just a guy who likes me; it was a guy who stalked me.

Sure, I've been thinking someone's been following me, watching everything I do, someone who knows what goes on with me.

But I never thought it was really true. I thought it was all in my mind, considering I had a O.I.

O.I. Overactive Imagination.

My view changed.

Now here I'm sitting, reading a short letter over and over again that was left on my bed.

At first I thought it was from my mom, or my dad, considering I didn't like them. We don't talk, only when we have to. My mom's been trying to get me to be like I used to be- bubbly, happy, energetic. Now I'm just tired. She even writes letters to me.

But when I glanced at the letter, it wasn't my mom's writing. Or my dad's. It was a stranger's.

Confused, I thought they got a friend to write it for them.

Wrong, again.

I quickly opened it, careful not to rip the envelope. Don't ask why, I'm just like that.

This is what the letter read:


Hello. Just to tell you, this isn't one of your parents' letters. This is from me. Who am I? Just someone. Someone watching you from outside your window. Take care, and a hint of advice- change in the washroom; I get tired of having to turn around when you change.

Yours Truly;

Now, all I'm thinking is, who the eff is 'me'? At least I know this guy isn't a pervert.

For the sake of finding out who he was, which I probably won't, but for the hell of it anyways, I decided to write back.

I kept reading the letter over and over, wondering what to write.

What do you write to…well…I suppose…a stalker?

Probably my sister's stalker.

Everyone likes her.

Tall, about 5'10, dark brown hair, tanned skin, skinny, fit body, dark brown eyes. What everyone likes.

A slut, whore, and is what I think of her.

As opposed to me- tall as well, 5'7, light brown hair, light brown eyes, skinny, but not so keen on showing it.

I, was not a slut. I was the nice kid. Who did have snappy comebacks when needed. Also seen as a sarcastic, moody, somewhat annoying, weird, calm, and random person.

I didn't like guys, and guys only thought of me as a friend. Which I was really happy about.

I hated flirting. I found it stupid.

Now, getting back on topic- what do I write back?

I think he got mixed up. My sister's bedroom is right next to mine.

But he's a supposed stalker. He can't mess this stuff up.

Maybe he can. She's always in here, looking for clothes.

Complaining how my clothes are dark, and how she wanted pinker, and purpler clothes.

She can piss off.

Maybe I should just tell him I think he has the wrong person. Yea, that's sound good.


Err- hello. I think you've gotten our rooms mixed up. My sister's room, Jasmine, is next door to my room. I'm sorry you wasted your ink on me, but, if it helps I'll deliver it like a post girl to her if needed. Whatever, bye.


I folded it into an envelope, with the name 'Me' written on it, and left it on my bed.

I glanced at the clock.


That reminds me. Did I mention that I went downstairs at 7.45am and came up at 7.50am and found an envelope on my bed? Yea. Strange, really.

That also reminded me that if I didn't leave for school now, I'd be late. Really late.

I grabbed my bag, and stood at the door, stealing one last glance at my bed.

Specifically the envelope.

I'd get to know how it'd turn out once I come back.

Now for the joy ride to school…

My arse.

I left downstairs and out the door, once again skipping breakfast.

Something I did everyday.

I walked out the door without a jacket, despite the fact that it was January.

It was abnormally warm, and I didn't need a jacket. My exco hoodie was enough.

My backpack was slung over one shoulder as I met up with one of my friends, Cherelle.

My best friend, really.

No matter our differences, our opinions were really quite the same.

Even though she liked rap and r&b, and I hated it.

Even though I liked rock and she hated it.

Even though I liked converse, and she hated it.

Even though she liked phat farms and I hated it.

We really had the same opinions, and some people didn't know how we had remained friends since 6th grade,

We were both in grade 11. Which meant we were 16.

She was 5'7 too, black hair, corn-rowed. She was mostly Jamaican, but didn't carry as much attitude. She only unleashed it when she was really mad.

She was almost always smiling and hyper, all the while I was calmer and had my share of mood-swings.

"Hey." I murmured.

"RACHEL! Sean Paul has his new CD out!"

"Haha, someone's eager to get it."

"Of course I am! Damn, the bell rang. C'mon, we'll be late."

She walked in front of me, catching up with other friends of ours.

I trudged on, keeping my pace steady.

I got the eerie feeling I was being watched once more.

I quickly shook off. Must be my O.I. working up again.

I walked to my locker, sad that school was beginning again.

I walked to first lazily, really wanting to miss it, but couldn't.

Once I got inside, I saw everyone lying on their stomachs in the corner away from the windows and door.

"What? What's going on?"

"Lock-down procedure! Quick! Come inside and lock the door after you!" My English teacher replied quickly, tossing the keys to me frantically.

"O-Oh Kay…"

I quickly shut the door behind me, and locked it.

I lied on the floor, like everyone else, beside Cherelle.

"What's going on?" I murmured. Yes, I murmur a lot.

"Some intruder. If it holds out long enough, we can go home!"

She never liked English class.

After what seemed like forever, but was really 15 minutes, an announcement came through the PA system.

Click. "Students are asked to go home, the school is to be searched." Click.

"That's it? Nothing telling us why?" I stated, a little shocked, but happy we got to go home.

"Who cares?! No school!" Cherelle exclaimed happily.

Our whole class practically ran out of the class to their lockers, eager to get home.

Soon enough, the school was cleared in less then 2 minutes.

Talk about hating school.

I looked around me.

No one was there.

I sighed, and knew Cherelle always went to her dance classes. She loved to dance, while I hated it.

I walked out of the school calmly.

I usually was the calm one in situations like these.

I walked on home, not caring about my surroundings.

Just as I reached for my door, I just remembered.

Yes! My parents were at work!

And maybe the stalker dude replied.

I shuddered, my hand in mid-air.

Just thinking about it, he could be watching me right now.

No, that way silly.

He probably was watching my sister, far away from me as possible.

He probably didn't like me.

Great. This is getting to me.

I reached for my keys, and fit them in the slot.

I opened the door, hearing it creak.

We were the first inhabitants, it was a new house. We've only been living in it for 7 years.

Yet the stairs still creaked, as if someone were always stepping on it.

The doors groaned as if being pressured too much.

I walked up to my room and flung my bag down.

I glanced around my room.

Green walls, posters plastered onto them.

Avenged Sevenfold, Black Destiny, Godsmack, Simple Plan, Sum 41, The All-American Rejects, Green Day, Out-Of-Your-Mouth posters.

Messy room.

I never liked cleaning.

Clothes piled all around my room, I was too lazy to pick them up, and sort them.

Even when they were freshly washed I would throw them on the floor.

I never cleaned. Only when I had to, though.

I sat on my bed and heard a crunch.

I sighed and looked down, thinking I sat on my math homework from years ago.

I didn't even throw out old papers from years ago.

I reached out from under me, and pulled an envelope up, with my name printed neatly on the top.

Another one? Didn't this guy go to school?

Or maybe he's a 50-year-old freak.

Who knows?

I drew in a deep breath, and opened the envelope.

It read;


No, I got the right room. I meant to deliver it to you; Rachel. Don't be so sure about everyone liking Jasmine, because I don't. And I know you don't either. She gets on both our nerves. And I'm not wasting my ink on you; I'm spending it wisely. And these letters are only you for you. No one else, just for your eyes. And I'm not a 50-year-old freak either. I can read the expressions on your face well. As your reading this, I'm watching you, your expressions changing. And don't worry, I don't peak on you when you change, or take a shower. Remember, I'm always watching.


I sat there, gaping at this letter.

Did this mean I had a stalker?

Wow- I was kind of flattered, yet at the same time shocked.

No one should stalk me, I'm too plain and boring!

Now to just reply back.

Seems to me he can break into my house, so I'll place it anywhere.

Wait- how do I if this isn't a prank?

It probably is, a prank from Jasmine.

Hmm, this guy should prove me he's not my sister. Or maybe this he is a she.

Who knows?