Page 2 of Freaks Of Nature

We have a lot of those. Castle City is a maze of turns and dead ends for someone who didn’t grow up here.

Me? I know every block like the back of my hand. I have my bike, but I’m also no stranger to free running.

My skin prickles from anticipation. Hands stuffed into my pockets, I slip after her without my combat boots making a sound on the asphalt.

I give the alley a quick sweep to confirm we’re alone, then reach into the front of my sweatshirt to pull out my mask.

Switching the light on, I slide it over my face and readjust my hood. I want it low for a more dramatic effect.

At last, I draw my knife.

It’s the flick of the blade when I release it that brings her feet to a dead stop ahead of me.

She pivots, turning her head so slowly I swear I feel the air around us crackle from the fear rolling off her.

My excitement doubles.

A fresh wave of adrenaline rushes me, and I drink her in, my cock throbbing as it presses against my fly. Her skin has a touch of Mediterranean, mixed Hispanic maybe, but it’s her eyes that nearly push me over the edge… because there’s something else stirring under the fear.

And perhaps that scares her even more than I do. Her sneakers skip over the ground as she whips back around and starts sprinting down the alley toward the other end.

Sweet delight curls my lips. “Run, baby girl. You won’t escape me.”

Em

Iunfold the white sheet I picked off the table and gasp, my eyes going wide. “Did you see who left this?” I shout after Jake, who just finished busing the section.

“Left what?”

The cold sensation along my neck claws its way deeper under my skin. “Never mind.” I fold the paper, feeling it crinkle against my fingers as I shove it into my back pocket. There’s no way I’ll show him the drawing.

I swallow my discomfort before moving on to the last table. It’s been five days since my encounter with the man in the mask. He hasn’t shown himself again, but I’ve felt his eyes on me every step. Whether I’m leaving my apartment for work or retracing my steps to go home after my shift, he’s always there, a heavy presence hovering over me, a shadow.

Occasionally, I’ll hear footsteps behind me only to swing around and find no one there. He’d have me thinking I was imagining it all, had he not made himself known in other ways.

It started with pencil sketches of me at work, serving tables; harmless scenes. But over the days, the drawings have become more unsettling. There was one of me walking home alone, arms hugged tightly around myself with an expression of fear as I glanced back over my shoulder.

How he captured the details in my features and eyes is remarkable, and at the same time, utterly terrifying. Like he stared directly into my soul.

And what’s even more terrifying is that he’s so familiar with my features that he started drawing me in poses he’s never seen me in—couldn’t have. Like the one that’s burning a hole into my jeans now. In the drawing I’m asleep, my face relaxed, my eyes closed, the angle as if he’s right on top of me.

A shudder runs over my spine as I wipe the table’s sticky surface. I don’t remember serving him. How did he come in and disappear without notice?

He’s left other sketches for me to find beneath the wiper of my car on the street. He knows which one is mine. I assume he’s been watching me get in and out of my apartment. This is the first time he’s left one for me at the diner.

Yesterday, he left a sketch of me undressing in front of the window, which on its own is unsettling, but the view isn’t from outside looking in. It’s from the viewpoint of my closet.

It scared me so much, I checked the space for any signs of him having been there.

Of course there were none. He’s fucking with my head. He wants me to think he was there.

But what’s he waiting for?

“See you tomorrow,” I tell my boss Laura after I finish my round and clock out in the kitchen.

Pulling the diner’s back door shut behind me, I step into the dark alley.

An instant chill creeps over me.