STALKED!

She knew he’s been in her room even before she opened the door.

“I just knew,” she told me later, trembling. “Because I felt cold. It was always like that…”
Across the room, a guy laughed suddenly and she jumped from her seat. She sighed
and gave me a weak smile. “I’m sorry; I’m just jumpy these days.”

The canteen we were in was far from chilly but she was hugging herself as if it was. I
sat beside her, watching the crowd, helping myself to some spaghetti. The stereo was
playing this corny novelty song and the students from the other table started singing
along.

I tuned them out, put down my fork and waited. She said nothing. After a while, I took a
last chug off my soda can and wiped my mouth. And I waited.

“I don’t know why, Sir, it’s hard to explain,” she finally continued, rubbing her shoulders.
“But I knew he’s been in my room. Again…” She trailed off and stared blankly at her
food. Her chicken noodle soup lay uneaten. I noticed that she looked gaunt, as if she
haven’t been eating or sleeping well. Her curly hair was slack, her brown eyes tired, her
lips pale.

I sighed and asked, “Tell me, Maria. Right from the beginning.”

She just had her Korean midterms earlier in the morning a week ago and went back to
her boarding house to change clothes. She was thinking she did well on the exams and
wanted to treat herself to this expensive restaurant in the city.

She ambled down her corridor, fished for her keys from the bag and was about to open
the door when—
“I was suddenly nervous. It was weird; I just stared at my door like something bad was
waiting for me inside. I didn’t want to come inside,” she said.

She remembered dropping her keys, and glancing wildly at the corridor. It was deserted,
she was alone. And she was scared.

She stayed in the hallway for a while, not knowing what to do.

Then she took a few calming breaths, picked up the keys, inserted it to the lock and as
her heart hammered loudly in her chest, she opened the door.

Nobody was waiting there. Everything was in its place. Her bed was neatly made; her
stack of books lay on their familiar corner of her desk. She checked for her monthly
allowance in a wallet under her pillow and found that it wasn’t stolen. Everything was as
it should be, but she felt doomed, as if a knife was poised behind her and ready to
strike.

“It’s a feeling I have, Sir. Nothing was disturbed but it didn’t feel right. And that’s when I
found the dead rose.”

It was pinned between the pages of her Twilight book. A note on pink scented paper
also lay inside.
“’I’m watching you. We’ll see each other soon.’ That’s what the note said. I knew it
wasn’t a joke; someone’s after me.” She looked at me.

“A stalker,” I said. She nodded. “A stalker.”

She lived in constant fear. Every other midnight, someone would knock on her door
three times. She’d call out, “Who is it?” and no one would answer. A few minutes later,
she’d hear someone tap lightly on her window. The light outside would frame a man’s
silhouette on her curtained window.

Tap, tap, tap. Three times. She’d crawl to the farthest corner, trembling. And wait for the
shadow to move away. It’s been happening for a week now.

“I just freeze, Sir, every time. I can’t scream, I can’t move. I’m not that strong,” she told
me.
“Did you tell anyone?” I asked. She shook her head. “Why not?” She reached inside her
bag and took out photos.

“I’ll find them on my bed when I go home from school,” she said. I picked up one from
the stack. A picture of a sleeping girl, curled up in her bed. From the corner of the photo,
I could see a guy’s hand holding a wicked-looking knife, its tip pointed at the girl’s
throat. I picked another photo and saw a different sleeping girl, but the same knife-
wielding hand in the corner.

“They’re my friends, he’ll kill them if I tell,” she whispered. “I—I can’t be responsible, I
don’t—don’t want them to die.” She took the photos and quickly put them back inside
her bag.

“How does he do it without anyone knowing?” I asked. She shook her head and said, “I
don’t know.”
But the nightmare continued. The nightly visitations occurred; the knocking on her door
and window. The dead roses kept coming and the note’s messages were getting more
explicit.

“He’s telling me all the things he’ll do when he finally comes to get me.” She grabbed for
a napkin and dabbed her tearing eyes. “He said he’ll tie me up and gag me, take off my
clothes and…” I stopped her from saying anything more.
“Don’t, please…” I said. She nodded, and looked down.

She felt that someone was following her on her way to and from school. The back of her
head would prickle, as if someone’s intense eyes burned at her back. These days, she
would beg her classmates to walk her home.

“I’m so scared. Especially now. He said he’ll come for me…tonight.”

I stared at her. “What’re you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came to you, Sir. You’ve always been the nicest professor,”
she looked at me, hopeful. “You always know what to do. I—I can’t do this anymore. I
can’t live in fear...Please Sir, I think you can help me.”

I thought about it for a while. “Okay,” I said. She smiled a real smile for the first time
since we arrived at this canteen.

“Thank you. Yes, thank you, Sir,” she said gratefully.

“So what you should do is…” I began saying. She sat up, expectant. “You should submit
to him, do whatever he wants you to do,” I said.

She went still. “What?” she asked in a small voice. “Wh—Why?”

“You’re very beautiful, my dear,” I told her. “You remind me of someone I used to know.
You’re my best student and I know you’ll be perfect for me.” I watched her eyes cloud
with confusion.

“What are you saying?” she asked. And then the terror sparked in her widening eyes.
Her lips trembled open. “No. No…” she whispered.

“I love you,” I said, and produced the dead rose from my pocket. I placed it on the table.
“Be with me.” I gave her my best loving smile.

She cried out and ran for the door. The chatter in the canteen stopped and heads
swiveled in my direction. Calmly, I put money on the table to pay for the food. The knife
strapped in my pants was warm.

And then I went after her.

By Jose Arispe Edma Jr.

(The above article was submitted to Brown Writer's Guild for their theme LOVE
HATE FEAR last 2009. It was never published.) :)