Always Watching

 

        Janelle stood on the subway, her purse clutched tight to her chest, the muscles at the base of her neck were in a knot, and she cringed at the smell of BO and the press of too many strangers around her. "God, please don't let me be groped," she begged under her breath. At each stop, the car continued to fill, pressing tighter and tighter, she held her panic at the base of her throat, with her arrival to her destination she escaped the oppression, the stench, and the panic.

She joined a small group of fellow female passengers as they moved en masse to the street above, each with the same overwhelming feeling of vulnerability as they went to their respective destinations. She paused just inside the main entrance of her workplace to try to relax before joining another crowded space in the elevator. Overjoyed with her arrival to the 17th floor and her private office, she closed her door behind her and collapsed at her desk.

She glanced at her phone to see the numbers tick over to 7:55, her typical arrival time, but equally confused she peeled a post-it note from her screen, to read the words, "You are beautiful when you sleep." As the only one with a key to her office, besides the cleaning service, she returned to the front desk to inquire of the secretary of any visitors that morning. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said. "No one out of the ordinary has been in the office this morning. I was the first to arrive and have not left my station." Accepting the note from her, she too was equally confused. "This is really creepy," she said. "You should probably talk to Mr. Harrington or maybe the police. If someone is watching you, something should be done."

Repeatedly distracted by the note, now stuck to the corner of her desk, the tension and fear from earlier that morning continued to resurface and ravage her. "Maybe it's just someone's joke," she told herself, hoping for a simple, harmless explanation but still sick to her stomach at the idea of being watched in her sleep. At the end of the day, her boss, Mr. Harrington, offered to accompany her home and walk through each room, ultimately finding nothing.

The next day was an unsurprising repeat of the day before, revealing a second note on her computer monitor, with an exponentially creepier message than the first, "You're beautiful when you shower," it read, except this time with a large smiley face accompanying the comment. As this comment passed through her eyeballs, a sense of violation passed through her as well, giving her the urge to either move or find a roommate.

After dinner that evening, she explored literally every inch of her apartment, hoping and simultaneously not hoping to find something, some explanation, some shred of evidence that would explain the notes. Midnight drew closer and she finally collapsed in exhaustion, finding nothing, disappointed but at the same time relieved but also sickeningly curious regarding who and how.

The following day, overly tired from the late evening, Janelle paused at her office door, fearing the possibility of a new note, that hopefully would not be next level creepy. Checking her phone, she watched it tick over to 7:55 and she pushed through the doorway to find a third note, which read, "I really enjoy watching you undress," accompanied by an even large smiley face. A wave of revulsion cascaded over her with the threat of her breakfast demanding an escape the same way it went down.

That evening after dinner and before her shower, she squeezed into her closet with the light off, to get undressed and wrap in a towel, terrified to think of someone hiding somewhere or watching her from some obscure, miniature device. She placed her phone on the bathroom counter with the flashlight on and the bathroom light off, she kept herself covered until the water started to flow, showering quickly without washing her hair, she rewrapped herself before opening the shower curtain.

Looking toward the bathroom door in the vaguely lit room, the shape of a face, somewhat and somehow merged with the woodgrain stared across at her, eliciting a muffled scream, she steadied herself on the counter, to sit on the closed toilet seat. Looking a second time, she thankfully realized that the face was gone. "I'm losing my mind," she muttered. "There is no way that was real." Still trembling, she quickly dressed and wrapped herself in a blanket to distract herself with a movie, trying to obliterate the terrifying image from her mind.

Ninety minutes later with a comforting rom-com in mind, she lay in bed, blanket to chin, praying that sleep would erase her horrible evening. The grating of her morning alarm dragged her from a thankfully restful sleep, and she hurried through her morning routine, through her always traumatic subway ride, to find another note on her monitor, which read, "That wasn't very nice last night, you are making me angry," accompanied this time by a drawing of a sad face.

Sickened, confused, overwhelmed, and angry, she crumpled the note and dropped it in the trash, determined to do something, anything, to make this stop. A brief phone call and a short visit from a relatively friendly, female police officer, left her with no resolution or explanation. After work, she walked from the subway to her front step to be confronted by a little girl, clearly no more than ten or eleven years old. "You're very pretty," she said. "Seeing you makes me happy, so I watch you every day and wonder if I'll be beautiful like you when I grow up."

Janelle paused, squatted down to look at the little girl at eye level, substantially confused but also relieved at what really made no sense whatsoever. "Have you been leaving me notes?" she asked, knowing full well that such a thing was impossible. 

"Oh, good," the little girl said. "I'm glad you've found my notes, it was not easy to have those delivered each day but I'm glad you found them and please don't hide like you did the other night. I missed seeing you." As she finished her sentence, she skipped away to disappear around the corner at the end of the block.

Janelle stood in silence for a moment, trying to process the bizarre conversation that just took place. "Watching me, thinking I'm beautiful, delivering messages, none of this makes sense, all of this is impossible, there is no reasonable explanation," she heard herself mumbling to herself. "I guess that could have turned out much worse."