TRIGGER WARNINGS (PLEASE READ): This story and series as a whole features explicit stalking and non-consent. Please do not read if you are at all sensitive to those topics.

IMPORTANT NOTES: It goes without saying that while it's fun to read and write stories like these, the actions of the male main character are reprehensible and in real life, he should go straight to jail. He is a sadistic psycho, and is both possessive and obsessive to an extremely unhealthy and damaging degree.

This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

(All parts to this story can be found here when they are published!💜)

It’s been over a week since my stalker gave me the picture of myself. Since then, there’s been complete radio silence from him.

I tried texting the number he used, but either my texts aren’t going through, or he’s just ignoring me. I suspect it’s the latter.

And honestly, the silence is worse than when he was standing in my driveway. At least then, I knew where he was and could track his movements.

Knowing that he’s planning something, or maybe even intentionally letting me get antsy and nervous, makes me so fucking terrified. A man like that doesn’t ignore me because he has nothing to say, he ignores me because he wants me to wonder what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking working, too.

I can barely sleep at night, knowing that he can somehow get into my house. It didn’t matter when I locked my door, or put a chair in front of my door, he’d always find a way in. It’s reached the point where I’m questioning the point of even locking the doors.

I tried calling the police again, despite my stalker’s grim warning, but they’ve been predictably useless. Whoever my secret admirer is, he’s remarkably good at erasing evidence. The only solid piece of evidence I could give the police was the photo, but I honestly suspect that they just think I’m responsible for the photo.

And I absolutely refuse to tell Sophie. The police is one thing, but putting my sister and her husband in danger is not a line I will cross.

It is absolutely killing me inside, though. Every day when she calls, I tell her I’m fine and that the stalker hasn’t made any new moves. She only knows about the flowers, not that I’ve literally seen him and that he threatened me with her death if I told her anything.

I suspect she can tell I’m a big fat liar, too, which makes it even worse to lie to her. One day, she’ll sit me down with our parents and stage an intervention where they give me five bodyguards and lock me in my bedroom for the rest of the year.

Though, if they’re hot bodyguards, I won’t complain.

God, what is wrong with me?

I’m working on what I should tell her, if only just to avoid worrying her like I am now, but I’m struggling. The only real answer I’ve come up with is to tell her that the stalker did do something, but not what he did. I could tell her he gave me another flower and stole my panties, I’m sure she’ll believe that, but I need a long-term strategy.

Telling Sophie was the biggest mistake of my life, I realize.

I shake off my frustration and worries, upping the pace with which I’m running my trail. Unlike most mornings, I’m running with pure anger coursing through my veins.

How dare he put me in this impossible situation? How dare he put a wedge between my sister and I? How fucking dare he break into my house, watch me sleep, and intentionally terrorize me just for his sick pleasure?

Those have been the thoughts stuck in my head for the past week. Sure, I feel absolutely terrified, but lately I’ve just been feeling fucking angry that he’s making me feel this way.

I round a corner and keep running faster. My sides hurt like hell, but I don’t care. I keep pushing myself, and when I complete the entire trail, I start it again.

I finish another round, but then I collapse onto the ground. Runners know that you shouldn’t stop moving immediately after running a great distance, but I’m completely spent.

And all the anger and all the terror overflow in that moment. Within moments of hitting the ground, it’s not just sweat soaking my face, and I feel tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Ma’am?” I hear someone speak from above me. I turn my head, finding a sweet looking middle-aged man looking at me with concern.

“I’m okay,” I lie, but the way his lips thin indicates that he clearly doesn’t believe me.

Great. I seem to have a tendency to make people worry about me, despite my best efforts.

He asks me another question, but I tune him out, instead focusing on steadying my breathing.

After a few minutes, I manage to get up. He’s looking at me with a paternal concern, and it breaks my heart a little. I offer him another, “I promise I’m okay,” and then run back home.

When I get to my front door, I run inside immediately, and go to shower like I have for a while now. I keep all my doors and my shower curtain open, meaning I can catch my stalker should he break in while I’m vulnerable.

What will I do if he does break in while I’m in the shower? I have no idea, but I never claimed to think ahead.

When I finally make it to my bedroom, I’m frankly not surprised to see another white rose. But what catches my eye is that it looks a little more wilted than normal, which is odd.

All the ones I’ve received so far have looked fresh, and honestly beautiful, but this one looks like it’s been without water for at least a few hours. It’s not like it would’ve been difficult for him to place it there while I was out. Did he time it wrong, thinking I’d see the flower sooner than I did? Did he have other commitments, so had to make do with leaving the flower for me hours before I was meant to come home?

Or, most terrifyingly of all, is this a message of some sort?

I don’t allow myself to deliberate further. Instead, I snap the stem in two and angrily toss the flower away in the garbage. I haven’t ruled out that he might be watching me in secret, and it’s moments like these that I really hope he fucking is, so he can see exactly what I think of his little gifts.

But who knows, maybe he gets off to seeing me angry. I’ve never met a stalker before, but I can’t imagine they’re right in the head.

I go to sleep angrier than ever that night.

I wake up a few days later to loud thunder rumbling outside. Rain is pelting my window in angry, near terrifying waves, and I realise I won’t be able to go back to sleep like this.

With a sigh, I sit up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I’m the type of person who loves falling asleep to the sound of rain. Whether that be on the side of a tent in the middle of the woods, or in my room in a high-rise hotel. But this is nothing like those.

I haven’t seen a storm this bad in years. It’s honestly scary, and I’m not proud of how I flinch when my room suddenly illuminates from another thunderstrike.

When another one strikes just a short distance away, I honestly consider going to my bathroom to hide, hoping the sound is more muffled there.

“Fuck me,” I mutter and swing my legs over the side of my bed.

But just when my bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor, I hear another sound through the loud rain.

It sounds like the floor creaking, and at first I think it’s from how I hit the floor, but then, when I don’t move for a few seconds, I hear it again.

And it’s definitely not coming from inside my room.

Through the loud rain and occasional thunder, it’s difficult to pick out the sound, but I swear I hear footsteps out in the hallway.

They’re heavy, the wood straining to support the person’s weight, but they’re not even trying to hide themselves. They’re walking like they own the place, like they have a right to be here, and my heart leaps into my throat when I realise they’ve stopped.

It's him.

I don’t know how I know, I just do, like I can feel him. It’s probably really bad that I’ve grown somewhat used to him being in my life, but I can’t afford to think about that. Not when he’s standing outside my fucking bedroom.

I’m trembling all over, hands braced either side of me where I sit on the bed. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I know I have a knife in my bedside drawer–one I put in a little while ago–but how can I get to it without him hearing me opening it?

Should I risk it? If he hears me opening it, is he going to assume I know he’s there and I’m pulling out a weapon? I mean, what sort of person keeps a weapon in their bedside table? Someone with a stalker, probably.

But he’ll probably assume I’m pulling out a vibrator or something. I don’t really know which is worse.

But what I do know is that this asshole is just standing outside my door, not moving. And I know he’s standing there when lightning illuminates my room again, and I see the silhouette of two feet standing right outside the door.

I let out a shriek at the sight, and my trembling hand goes to cover my mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Either he’ll know I’m aware of his presence, or he’ll think I’m just terrified of the storm. Both are true, honestly.

Another minute passes where I nervously wait for him to do god knows what. But just when I’m about to grab my knife and charge at him, he starts moving again.

His footsteps are slow and methodical yet confident and determined. I don’t dare move, not until I hear him slam my front door, causing me to flinch.

I lurch from my bed, yanking the door open and charging out into the hallway.

He’s, obviously, not here anymore, and he’s not even in my driveway. I was too slow.

But when I walk back to my bedroom, I see something on the floor that I ran over in my rush to chase after him.

There, right outside my bedroom door, sits a single decayed white rose.

By the time I get my next rose, petals are falling off its stem just from picking it up. At this rate, the next one will be pure dust, and I have no idea what the hell that means.

It’s obviously a message of some kind, but he’s not telling me what sort of message. He wants me to wonder what it means, what’s going to happen when the rose is so decayed that there’s no point in giving it to me anymore.

I sometimes think of how strangely frustrating it is that he’s my stalker. If I had a normal stalker (I mean, as normal as one can be), then he would’ve abducted me and skinned me alive already, right?

But no, this dude wants me to be scared. I’m not an idiot, I know this is all his twisted way of getting off. He wants me to be trembling with fear, to have my mind racing about what he’s going to do to me.

Maybe he grew tired of the flowers. Maybe he saw how I grew used to them, so he upped the stakes by giving me wilted ones. Maybe he knew I was awake a few nights ago when I received the one outside my bedroom door.

Maybe the whole point of this game is to maximise my terror when he kills me, just like the wilting flowers.

My thoughts are going a mile a minute when I walk into my living room after work. Just like usual, I expect to see a flower somewhere in my house. I spend some time looking around. It’s not like he hides them, I mean, he wants me to see them, but I still spend some effort looking for them.

But I don’t find any in my living room. Shrugging, I walk into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

My knees buckle when I see what’s sitting on my kitchen island. It’s a vase, a huge fucking vase filled to the brim with dozens of beautiful black roses.

“What the fuck!?” I scream. Anger overwhelms me, all the pent-up emotion from weeks of this twisted game boiling over. “Why the fuck are you doing this!?” I yell out into my kitchen.

Tears are welling up in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. My throat aches as I sob.

When I realised I have a stalker, I knew I’d be scared. I’d be scared of what he wanted to do to me, of all the unknowns. When the stalking created a wedge between my sister and I, I began getting angry. I was angry at him, but most of all with myself, for not handling this situation better, for dragging Sophie into this.

The anger flowed through me for days. And whenever I became scared, like when my stalker was outside my bedroom door, I just became angrier at him.

But what I didn’t expect was for me to become tired. It would be one thing if this guy wanted to kill me. It’d be scarier if he wanted to kidnap and fuck me, but at least any of those scenarios are quick and predictable.

But no, he can’t do that. He needs to torment me for weeks, mocking me to my face that he can enter my home, see my sleeping body, whenever he wishes. It’s tiring, this game. All the seemingly endless, cryptic flowers.

“I can’t fucking take this anymore.” I fall to the floor with pure exhaustion.

A few minutes pass before I pick myself up from the floor and make my way over to the flowers to study them closer.

They’re fucking beautiful, which is honestly the worst part about all this. They look like the types of flowers I’d be overjoyed to receive from a boyfriend, yet it’s my stalker who’s giving them to me.

This can’t go on, I realise. Keeping my loved ones out of this mess can only go so far. When this gets worse, it might be too late to call for help.

I’m going to call Sophie and ask to stay with her for a little while. Maybe if I don’t say why, my stalker won’t think I’m asking her for help.

With trembling hands, I go to pick up my phone, but the second I pull up Sophie’s contact, a text comes through.

Unknown number: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

I pause on my screen, considering. Is he threatening me or Sophie? Or both of us? I have no fucking idea.

“I’m not going to tell her,” I say aloud, just in case he’s listening somehow.

I hit the green call button and bring the phone to my ear. A few seconds go by, the loud, monotonous ringtone grounding me somewhat.

Finally, she picks up, greeting me with a concerned, “Hello?”

I go to reply, but just then, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around slowly, coming face to face with the demon that’s haunting me.

Seeing Elsie scared on the screen of my laptop is nothing compared to seeing it in person. Her eyes widen at the sight of me. She has this deer in the headlights look about her, like she can’t quite believe it’s come to this point.

I almost laugh at her disbelief. I mean, she has a stalker. Obviously it was going to get to this point eventually.

“Elsie?” I hear her sister ask, but she doesn’t respond. Sophie has been a bit of a thorn in my side lately, I’ll be honest. I’ve been worried about spooking Elsie, of escalating too quickly, just for her to run into her sister’s arms.

I can’t blame her for that, and I certainly understand her concern at my latest gift, even if her concern is misplaced.

I give a little shake of my head. I know what she’s thinking right now. She thinks I’ll hurt her sister and her husband, but I wouldn’t do that. I’m not ashamed of being an evil man, but I wouldn’t hurt Sophie. My threat was an attempt to stop her from involving her further, something that worked for a while, until now.

“Sorry,” Elsie says, and I cringe a little at her trembling voice. She sounds fucking beautiful when she’s scared, but right now, I need Sophie to go the fuck away so I can have my way with her sister. “It was nothing.”

Silence fills the room. Her eyes are still fixed on mine, like she’s scared I’ll charge at her the second she looks away. I smile a little when I see a single tear roll down her eyes.

My girl clearly thinks tonight is the night she dies, but she’s so very wrong.

Her fate is much worse than that.

“Are you okay?” Sophie finally asks. Elsie nods immediately, and I huff a silent laugh at that.

She closes her eyes in frustration for a moment, then pushes out, “Yes. I was just wondering if uh…” She trails off. Her eyes have travelled down to my crotch, where my cock is pressing against the zipper like a caged animal.

Don’t worry, little Elsie. You’ll be well acquainted with him soon.

Though not tonight. I have different plans for her tonight, but my cock isn’t getting the memo.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Elsie finally asks her sister.

“Oh, uh…” Sophie clearly doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t argue. “Sure! Tomorrow night sound good?”

“Uh huh.” Elsie sounds like she’s staring death in the eye, which I suppose she is. “I gotta go.” She hangs up without another word.

I watch her phone like a hawk, making sure she’s actually hung up and isn’t just pretending to. “There you go,” I drawl when I’m sure. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her eyes close, and I can tell she’s fucking terrified. The sight of her trembling hands, her tear-filled eyes, it all makes it so fucking difficult to remind myself to take my time with her.

She’s already mine, even if she doesn’t realise it yet, but I know she needs time.

I’m nothing if not a benevolent stalker, after all.

But fuck, I can’t deny that I’ll be thinking of this moment for years to come. Of how vulnerable and terrified she looks. Watching her scared of her life has got to be one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, second only to watching her face when she comes.

“What do you want with me?” she asks after opening her eyes again. I tilt my head a little at the way the tremble in her voice has left her. Earlier, when I was waiting in her hallway, listening to her little tantrum, I wasn’t surprised to hear the pure exhaustion in her voice.

But I am surprised that she’s managed to steel her voice and her expression. She’s probably angry at me, for barging in like I own her.

We can’t have that, can we?

“If I catch you, you’ll find out.”

“What?” she blurts out in surprise, and I smirk.

“I’ll give you a chance to run, Elsie. If you manage to leave the house, I’ll leave you alone for good. If not…well, you’ll just have to see, I suppose.” I intentionally don’t mask the smugness in my voice. I fucking love teasing her like this. Riling her up, making her scared.

It almost makes me sad, knowing that eventually we’ll have to move on from this stage of our relationship.

“Maybe grab a knife if you want. I have one of my own, after all. Make it a fair fight.”

Her eyes widen at my admission, but she doesn’t move. She’s frozen.

“Run, Elsie.”

Once I pull out my knife, her hesitation fades in an instant. She bolts out of the kitchen.

I let out a little laugh as I start chasing after her.

Thank you for reading!💜