Horrors of the 21st Century

In honor of the upcoming Halloween holiday, I decided to write a short spooky story.

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   “I know where you live.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, I know where you live. You know, the address to your house. 3215 Acre Street” “And how could you possibly know that?” “Using your IP address, duh. Don’t you know all your private information is practically handed on a silver platter to anyone with the slightest clue how to use technology? I mean bad guys from the last century must be rolling in their graves right now, consumed with jealousy. Anyways, you should be more careful. You never know who’s gonna be after you.” “Right. I should be careful of weirdos like you who come on sites like this to try and scare people by telling them that you know their address. Well you know what? You must have a pretty sad life if you have to do that to feel as if you have any real power over anyone. At least the bad guys from the last century had the guts to stalk people in person, instead of hiding behind a computer screen like a coward. Have a good rest of your life, freak.”  

   I slam my laptop shut, not waiting long enough to see the smirk fall from that guy’s face. “I told you this was a bad idea! Now some sicko has my address.” “You’re fine, Gemma. Stop overreacting. He looked around our age, what harm could he possibly do? I for one was incredibly entertained by you going off on him. Please tell me you had just a fraction of the fun I had.” “Nope. Not even a little. I should have never listened to you and will no longer be taking your advice.” I check the time. It’s already 11:17 pm, I should really get to my homework. “Now that we’ve established that you give terrible advice and have a twisted definition of fun, I need to finish my homework. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night!” “Good night, party pooper. Hope he doesn’t get you in your sleep!” 

   There’s no freaking way. I have to be going crazy. You know I don’t remember taking any hallucinogens this morning along with my french toast, but I must have otherwise I would not be staring at the weirdo from last night. His eyes scan the room from the front of the class as he introduces himself as the new student. They skip over me – I’m safe, he doesn’t recognize me – only to jolt back and suddenly we lock eyes. The right hand corner of his mouth slightly raises. His smirk flashes for a second, maybe less than that, but it’s long enough for me to know without a doubt that it’s him.  

   A shadow looms as I pack my backpack. My eyes cut to the side and it’s him. Looking at me. I grab my laptop and tuck it into its protective sleeve. He’s staring. Blatantly. I shut my notebooks. He’s walking over. I grab my history paper and shove it into the first folder I grab. Shoot, it’s Spanish, I’ll have to fix that later. He’s now a couple feet away and I am just now noticing the room has cleared. The teacher should still be here, class ended only a few minutes ago. I push the folder into my backpack. It snags on my notebook. Shoot. He’s within arm’s reach. Shoot. My fingers fumble for the zipper of my bag. Where is it? I grasp clumsily at my bag until my skin makes contact with the cold metal. He’s next to me. I yank it up when I hear him loudly clear his throat. I jump from the noise, zipping the skin of my finger in the process. Shoot. It should sting but all I feel is a sense of unease wash over me. Alarms start blaring in my head. It’s a warning. A foreshadowing. Something isn’t right. I need to get out of here. There’s only 20 feet between me and the door. And him. I could make a run for it. He wouldn’t try to stop me. He wouldn’t dare try to at school, not with so many eyes around, would he? Where is the teacher? Bathroom breaks should never take that long. It’s not lik- “Hey, I wanted to talk to you.” Play dumb. He won’t know any better. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “You’re funny. I wish I could have found that out about you yesterday but you were too busy insulting me, remember?” “I think you must have me confused with someone else. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s now or never. I step around him and make for the door. “No, I don’t think I’m confused. How could I forget Miss Acre Street?” I whip around. “You know it’s not every day I get called a weirdo, coward, and freak all in one breath. It’s quite refreshing actually.” “Look I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, I was just creeped out.” I’m not sorry. I’m anything but sorry. But I’m scared of what you’re capable of. “Oh don’t even worry about it. I took a lot of what you said to heart. Your constructive criticism was understandable and I’ve decided to take your advice.” “What advice?” “Oh come on, you know. You brought up a great point. The bad guys of the last century were legendary because they entered the real world and acted on their inner most desires. I thought that wasn’t really my style, watching through a screen just seemed cleaner and classier, if not easier. But I’m more than willing to give it a try for you.” The door slams shut. My blood runs ice cold as I hear the lock click into place and realize it’s now just me and him.