Stalker: (n.) a person who harasses or persecutes someone with unwanted and obsessive attention

   I read the definition off the screen of my Microsoft Surface 2.

With unwanted or obsessive attention..., I think to myself while intently staring at the screen. I reread the sentence over and over again, trying to gain some understanding of my potential situation.

I could only draw some concrete lines: there is a person, I'm not really being harassed, and I'm getting unwanted, but not obsessive attention. It hasn't gotten that serious and I hope it never does.

It started last week when I got a text.

                     Flashback

~phone dings~

   I'm walking home back from school when my phone alerts me of a text message. I continue walking and pull the sleek, black iPhone X out of my back pocket.

Unknown
   I can c u

I stop dead in my tracks. Suspiciously, I slowly 360 my surroundings: a paved driveway with bushes and trees on the outskirts. I'm already on the estate, but the house is still a block's walk through the driveway.

   A faint rustle behind me sends my body whirling in the direction. My heart pounds as I study the bushes where the sound came from, but nothing is visibly out of the ordinary. It's just about 4 o'clock in the afternoon and bright enough so that I can see the close area, but behind the first layer of bushes and trees lies the woods- dark and ominous. I can't make out anything there.

   My phone dings again, a message from the same anonymous number.

Unknown
U should explore

   I've never been scared of walking home alone, but everything about the situation gives me the chills. Immediately, I turn around and continue walking home, my pace quicker than before. I was already on edge the whole time- breaking out in a cold sweat as goosebumps popped up on my back and arms. But when a twig snapped from in the woods and more leaves rustled, I lost it.

   I picked up my feet and ran towards the towering black gates that guarded my home. My heartbeat was so loud it was like it was coming from within my head, and sweat dripped down my forehead. It almost sounded like someone was running after me, but I was too scared to look back. The entire time, my phone kept blowing up with text after text.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!...

   I ignored the sound and pushed my legs to go as fast as they could and the gate gradually grew closer. In a state of panic, I almost didn't remember the gate pin, but thankfully I did. I punched in the 4 digit password and rushed through the doors as they slowly opened before quickly slamming them shut after I was in. And as the doors closed, I swear I could see a single eyeball peeking through.

I inched away from the closed doors, the only thing separating me from whatever was out there. If there was anything out there. Even though everything pointed danger, I made myself believe that I was imagining things. There was no eye, the sound was probably just a squirrel or something, and I was running for nothing.

I stalked up into my house, telling myself these things to feel reassured and I really believed that my brain was just making things up.

But when I got to my bedroom, another Ding! came from my phone. Hesitantly, I opened my messages and my heart practically sank to my stomach.

Unknown

I can c u 4:01 p.m.
U should explore 4:02 p.m.

D 4:02 p.m.
O 4:02 p.m.
N 4:03 p.m.
T 4:03 p.m.
R 4:03 p.m.
U 4:03 p.m.
N 4:03 p.m.
I can still c u                          4:06 p.m.

No matter how hard I try to deny everything, these texts are undeniable proof. Something was out there.

A knock on my door makes me almost fall off my chair. Well, it's my fault for tipping, but I can't help it.

"Miss Lianna?," our maid, Marie, asks in a soft voice from the other side of the grand mahogany door.

"Yes?," I answer, straightening up and calming down. Thinking about the incident made me uneasy.

"May I come in?"

"Of course."

The knob turns and Marie steps in. She's pretty- slim and tall with long chestnut hair and in her early twenties. She would be going to college, but when she unexpectedly had a baby, she had to drop out and care for it. There was no one to help her out since the father to her child left unexplained and her parents refused to accept an unsettled mother. She saw the job offer open as a housemaid and since it paid far better than all the other jobs, she took the opportunity. Her situation wasn't fair and I'm glad she works here since she's really nice and is a hard worker. My family likes her, which is why she's been able to work in our house here for more than a year.

   "I'm just here to tell you that dinner's ready."

"Ok, thank you."

"Your welcome Miss."

I roll my eyes and internally groan. "Please Marie, don't be so formal. Just call me Lianna- or even Lia. Just none of that 'Miss' or 'Ma'am' stuff. It makes me sound so pretentious and stuck-up."

She cracks a small smile and says, "Okay, I'll try," then gives a small bow and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

It's not the first time we've had that conversation, but she always ends up addressing me formally. I guess she can't help it.

I get up from my comfy lavender-colored chair- it's the type that rolls on wheels- and tuck it into my desk. Then I walk over to my queen-sized canopy bed that's draped with deep mahogany curtains and sheets and flop onto the soft mattress which sinking to my weight. A deep sigh escapes my mouth and all my stress from school, weird texts, and domestic li seem to wash away from me in a wave of fatigue.

   Gosh, I'm not even hungry. I just want to close my eyes and get some sleep.

   My eyes close any breathing slows.

   Ding!

   I ignore my phone.

   Ding!

   I roll over and pull the sheets around me.

   Ding!

   Pulling the sheets away from my body, I groan in annoyance and reach out to my shelf to grab my phone.

   Can't I just take a peaceful nap?

   The screen lights up when I click the home button and I see the notifications: 3 new messages from an unknown number.

   Right away, I become nervous and I feel like I'm being watched. With my heart beating faster than usual, I slowly glance about my room. It's a big space- so many places someone could hide. Being the overly paranoid person I am, I take a good five minutes to survey my whole room before feeling safe again and settling on my bed to read the messages.

   Unknown
   CMIYC

   What in the world was that supposed to mean?

   I abandon my previous plan of ignoring the strange messages. I think it's obvious that this person doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. And I'm getting fed up. So without further thinking things through, I type back:

   What?
   Who is this?
    What do you want?

   Nail-biting seconds pass as the typing icon stays on display. Finally, a response.

Unknown
CMIYC

Disappointed at the ambiguous response, I frown and try again.

Who are u?

The typing symbol again. I wait in anticipation.

Unknown
You'll find out
Maybe
CMIYC

I wait for minutes, frozenly staring at the black phone in my hands, until my door swings open, scaring me half to death.

I look up to see a looming figure in the doorway- my mother.