Fill

You lost your parents when you were a teenager, leaving you and your older sister alone.

You'd never been impressionable: few friends, but lifelong ones. Phil kept popping up in your life—in lines, in parks, at neighboring tables. Your eyes often caught each other. He was handsome: fair skin, silky hair, tall. You didn't pay any attention to it.

One day, your sister happily announced she had a boyfriend. That evening, he came over. Your surprise knew no bounds—it turned out to be Phil.

You'd been catching his glances all evening, but chalked it up to curiosity. He tried to talk, and you responded dryly.

A month passed. Phil came often, but he didn't live with you.

That evening, your sister went shopping. Phil stayed in the living room. You were sitting in your room when your gaze fell on a new flower on the windowsill. As you got closer, you noticed a tiny red dot—a lens—peeping out of a hole in the pot. You dug your fingers into the soil and felt the camera.

Goosebumps ran down my spine: only Phil could have identified it.

At that moment, you felt a strange presence behind you. Phil stood in the doorway, blocking the exit. His face was expressionless. His pupils were constricted. A weak, almost mad smile played on his lips.

"Why are you picking at the flower?" he said, his voice deceptively gentle. "You've gotten your hands dirty."

He took a step forward.

"Either you follow me voluntarily now," his voice dropped to a whisper, "or I'll have to kidnap you by force. I won't give up trying either way."

Time stood still. Your sister wouldn't be back for another ten minutes. And you were left alone with the one who had always haunted you—long before you knew his name.