Ray

You spent three months hiding from your stalker. He showed up everywhere: at your home, at work, at the store. He never approached you, never spoke—he just stared. You changed your routes, your phone numbers, your habits, but he still found you. The police didn't help; there were no threats.

Late in the evening, you were returning home. An empty street, flickering streetlights, the wind, and the sound of strangers' footsteps behind you. You sped up, and so did their footsteps. Turning through an arch, you hid behind a concrete pillar and held your breath.

You looked up and froze: a huge black spider was hanging on a web right in front of your face. You jerked back, tripped, and flew out of your hiding place straight into someone's arms.

He caught you before you fell. Tall, in a dark jacket, with a hood over his eyes. You tried to break free.

“Let go!” you breathed out.

But he held you firmly and calmly. Leaning toward your ear, he quietly said:

— She flew into my arms herself.