Stalking
a short story (originally published by Bramble House Lit)
This short story was originally published by Bramble House Lit on May 1, 2026. Read the original here.
“Were you lurking outside my window last night?” I ask you.
“Of course not!” you shriek. “Wait.” You pause for a moment. “Do you think you have a stalker or something? That’s very serious.”
I do have a stalker. It’s you, of course. I should have known you would never admit to something like that. But even here, at work, you are always hovering around me. Every time I go to the water cooler, you have to fill up your bottle too. Every time I head to the breakroom for lunch, you also start craving a sandwich. And don’t think I didn’t hear you asking Debra to move to a desk closer to mine. Conspiring with the office manager? Really? So, maybe that wasn’t you hiding in my hydrangea bushes last night, but I’m certain you’re stalking me.
“My mistake,” I say.
Tonight, I leave my curtains open longer than usual, keeping an eye on what or who might be lingering on the other side of the glass. I’m reading my tattered old copy of Pride and Prejudice, looking up every so often, expectant to see your face.
Suddenly, I feel a piercing gaze against my profile. It’s you. You’re out there. I just know it.
Keeping my head forward leaned down toward Austen’s pages, I slide my pupils as far left as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse without you noticing. I should have set up a security camera, or at least figured out a way to snap a picture with my phone without being obvious, but now, it’s too late.
I stand up and face the opposite wall. Maybe you will think I’m grabbing something from my dresser or off to take a shower. Slowly, I walk around the bed and in a split second, I spin around and charge the window, hoping to scare you enough that you will leave. If I get you scratched up from falling in the bushes, that could be evidence enough for the police.
My eyes focus and your face comes into view. Your deep set eyes, closely trimmed haircut, and slight smirk are unmistakable. I expect you to fall, to flee, or at least scream, but you remain still and watching.
I stop. Sitting on my knees, I put my eyes level with yours, a thick pane the only thing standing between us. It’s you, of course it’s you, though something feels off. Uncanny.
“What are you doing here?” I beg of you. Tell me why you would surveil me in my own home. Tell me why you would latch your claws into my skin, ready to rip them out at a moment’s notice. I can already feel blood pouring down my forearms.
You tap a finger against your ear. I suppose you can’t hear me through the glass. Unlocking the latch, I pull the window open and repeat myself.
“What are you doing here?”
“I felt pulled to you,” you say. “I can’t help it.”
A gust of wind floats toward me, sending a chill through my bloodstream. Despite the July heat, somehow it feels frigid outside of my walls.
“That’s creepy,” I say. “And you made me feel stupid at work today. Why can’t you just admit that you’re stalking me, huh? Own up to your sliminess.”
“Work?” you ask. “I’ve never seen you except through this glass. It’s like you conjure me the moment you walk through that portal,” you say, pointing to my bedroom door.
“You are a freak,” I sneer. “I’m heading straight to HR tomorrow morning. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.” I consider calling the cops anyway.
I reach to shut the window, but in a flash, I seize my moment and do the thing I’ve wanted to do for years. All those times you sat too close to me, all those times you interrupted me or our other female coworkers, and each time you got a promotion, even though you suck at your job, I’ve wanted to do this. I pull back my arm and fling it toward you, closing my eyes before making contact with your sweaty face.
But I feel nothing. My eyes flit open and all I can see are my hydrangeas and a front lawn in need of mowing.
Oh. I see. I’m not being stalked; I’m being haunted.
Thank you forever Bramble House Lit for being the home of my first fiction publication!
Fiction is my favorite genre to write. This is my first time sharing fiction here which is partly because I want to get my stories published in literary magazines (most of which will not accept previously self-published work) but also because I feel protective of my fiction. It feels different to share fiction than essays or poetry. This is my first ever short story to be published and I am so grateful to be able to share it with you.
Sincerely,
Caroline Cherry
oh my gosh its not often i actually get like HOOKED like this, but i was SAT, this is amazing caroline
One of your best fictional short stories! I can’t wait for more fiction pieces in the future!