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Anxiety had her feeling jittery.
What was it?
Sitting on the sofa, she looked over at Squish. There was nothing on the envelope.
But she knew there was going to be something bad inside it.
Someone must have pushed it under her door.
Don’t freak out. Maybe someone is inviting you to a potluck dinner.
Yeah, no one here was really into that. She’d tried to broach it with a few of her neighbors once and they’d looked at her like she was insane.
With hands that shook, she opened the envelope. A number of photos slipped out. They’d been printed on normal paper so they were grainy and poor quality.
But it was easy to see they were images of her. There were photos of her on the slide at the playground. Of her carrying her groceries. But the one that made her feel completely ill was the photo of her eating a Pop-tart. In this apartment.
She dropped the photos then rushed around the room, drawing all the curtains.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
He could see in her apartment. How? From another apartment building? Or did he have a camera in here?
Out. She had to get out.
She gathered up the images. Each one of her had a heart drawn around her face.
And then there was the note.
She put her hand over her mouth as she read the words.
Little birdie,it’s time to play
Will you flap your wings and fly away?
Shh, don’t tell anyone
It will ruin all the fun
And I won’t be happy with you,
I’ve been watching you, it’s all I do,
Little birdie, I’m coming for you . . .
Okay.Yep. Definitely going to vomit. She barely made it to the toilet before her lunch came up.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
What should she do?
This time, it was clearly a threat. This guy was playing a game. He’d been watching her.
Little birdie, I’m coming for you.
Clearly there was only one thing to do . . . only that seemed to be what he expected her to do.
To run.
