Only a few minutes before, running down the road to her house, she prayed that the old Victorian lock would turn easily when she arrived. She didn’t know where he was, but the footsteps never seemed far away. She reached for the door, discovering that she was shaking. She jiggled the key; it turned. Pushing the heavy weight, she slammed it shut, jamming the lock down. With lungs heaving with exertion, she turned to the stairs, needing to be further from the man outside. Her vision glanced past the thin window next to the door; a figure stood on the edge of the lawn, silent, dark, and unmoving. Turning with a grimace, she raced to the top of the stairs, grabbing the cordless phone as she passed by the hall stand.

The closet in her bedroom was dark, and she sank to the floor. Her fingers jabbed at the phone, clumsily dialing the first number that came to her mind. An answering machine picked up; she flung the phone across the closet, sobbing with frustration. Curling up in the laundry pile in the corner, she cried in hopeless despair.

The first time she’d seen him was at a McDonald’s two months before. She’d been there with her nieces, playing in the area in front of the store in the hot sun. It didn’t occur to her that he was watching them at first, but as the afternoon wore on, the shadowy figure in the Buick caught her attention more than once. Finally, she’d packed the girls into the car, worried that he was watching them. But as the weeks wore on, she started to notice the beat-up car in the parking lots of the places she’d frequent: the grocery store, the gas station, the gym. It was always in the back, out of the way, but the silhouetted figure was inside, never moving, always watching.

Tonight was the first time she’d seen him without the car. Her nightly jog had taken more time than she’d thought it would; she’d decided to take a new path in the park, not realizing how late it was. The sun went down before she made it to her street, and when she did turn the corner, standing in the middle of the road, was the man. She didn’t know exactly why she was so sure it was the same person, but the fear that put her heart in a vice grip told her to keep moving as fast as she could. She took off for her house, the old house at the end of the road, hoping he wouldn’t follow. As she passed him, she heard the crunching gravel under his feet, and knew he was about to follow her. She kept running.

Now, as she sat in the closet, crying with frustration over her situation, a new sound came to her ears. Footsteps, slow, deliberate footsteps were making their way up the staircase. Gasping, she grabbed the phone and backed up into the corner, listening. The single bead of sweat was the only thing she thought about, blocking out the sound of the feet coming closer, closer. The first bead of sweat trickled down, then another. Every creak of the old house seemed amplified, hurting her ears. She pushed herself into the joining of the walls, feeling the pressure on her shoulder blades. Dear God, she thought, I don’t want to die.

As the lights came on, her scream pierced the surrounding darkness. She could hear herself screaming from far away, as though she wasn’t there. The pressure behind her eyes built up, pushing at her eyelids. A fog gathered around her eyes, and she suddenly felt a blackness come upon her. Then all was quiet.

When she came to, she realized there was someone with her. Her body tensed, remembering the crisis she’d just passed through. "Hey, hey, it’s just me," he said, softly.

"Joe?" she blinked at the brightness of the light. "How did? I mean, how could…"

"You called me. I heard you crying. I came right away."

The pressure of the night hit her then, and she clung to him, weeping softly, and he sat with her, holding her, cradling her head in the hollow of his neck where his triumphant smile could not be seen…   

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