Prying Eyes

Have you ever had the feeling someone is watching you? Where the air seems just a little bit different, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand up?

Michael had gone away for the weekend, on business, he said. He wasn’t going to be back until Sunday night. I’d just finished a relaxing hot shower, my hair up in a towel and my still-wet body hugged in the warm folds of my bathrobe, and put on a pot of tea and the television. With him gone I thought it would be good to opportunity to just stay in and relax and have some time to myself.

That’s when I felt the eyes watching. When I got the overwhelming sensation of not being alone. Of someone was looking in. The drapes fluttered in the cold wind of the night and I knew someone was there. I could feel it.

“Who’s there?” I called out, but no one answered.

Trying to remain calm, I went to the closet and got out a flashlight. I held it in my shaking hand called out again:

“I know you’re out there! Show yourself!”

There was no response.

I turned on the flashlight, and I saw the voyeur leering down at me from the tree in the yard. It was Michael. Vacantly his eyes stared in through the window, so very white. Beneath them a rope tight around his neck and beneath that jagged bloody letters carved into the flesh of his chest:


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