The Followers
I was almost done cleaning myself up from the long shift, almost sexy enough to go out with my boyfriend, when I realized I'd left my makeup kit downstairs. Heaving a sigh, I trudged on tired feet to the basement door, wearing only my underwear. No one else was home, so the house was safe to tread as my territory.
"Help me!"
The voice was coming from downstairs. I snapped out of my sleepiness in time to hear a loud noise. Nervously, I called down, "Liza? Is that you?"
My sister didn't answer. I held my breath and stood on the top of the staircase for a long time, but there were no more noises. I decided to go without makeup that night.
A few weeks later, I awoke in the middle of the night with the creepy feeling that someone was watching me sleep. A thorough check of my room showed there was no sign of anyone. I laid back down and tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn't help keeping them open. This wasn't a friendly, Edward Cullen kind of lurking. This was something creepy. Something that wanted to hurt me.
It wasn't until another week had passed that I awoke, as I now did every night around 3 a.m., and saw the man. He was standing in the corner, his mouth moving without sound. I couldn't tell what he was trying to say to me. I didn't really want to know.
I could tell he was a ghost by the way he was moving, so I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and willed him away.
Another time, a claw reached for me near my doorway, followed by the face of a very unhappy man. Though I screamed and ran outside, the supernatural creature followed me.
I told my friends over coffee the next day, when they asked why I looked so shaken and tired. All they did was laugh.
My boyfriend knows. He understands that I see ghosts, that they follow me and haunt my very footsteps.
I am a victim of the followers. I do not know how much longer I can keep my sanity.
