Chapter 1: The stalker at my window

ADRIANA

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Like every other evening, as I sit beside the heart-shaped window in my bedroom, I get the feeling of being watched.

I lower my diary to the windowsill and lean out, scanning the trees surrounding my home.

It's getting dark, and storm clouds are gathering in the sky. It rains almost everyday here in Ravenswood, Queensland.

My home is surrounded with lush forest trees, arranged perfectly on either sides of the path leading towards the entrance gates.

I narrow my eyes and look into the shadows cast by the trees as they sway in the approaching storm.

I can't see anything through the thick grove, yet the fine hairs at my nape prickle and stand on end.

He is back, and he is watching me.

It began a few weeks ago, after my family and I returned from our yearly vacation in Paris.

I remember standing beside the window, about to undress when I felt it for the first time.

At first, I deduced it as my imagination. Australia was a creepy place, even though everyone thought otherwise.

I was ready to push the feeling aside when a silhouette caught my attention. I looked out and spotted a dark figure outside my bedroom.

He was within the shadows cast by the trees, looking straight at my room. I couldn't see his face because a thick hoodie covered his entire head. The only thing visible were his boots.

For a long minute, I returned his stare. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel his direct gaze. It was unnerving.

After a while, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, like he was never there.

That was the very first time I saw him.

Now he's back.

I scan the trees carefully, past the shadows and into the thicker part of the grove. There's no sign of him, but I know he's there. I feel his stare. I feel his presence.

Losing interest, I turn away from the window and move towards my bed. He hasn't really made any move towards me. He hasn't given me any reason to believe he's a threat.

He just comes, stares at my window as if waiting for me, then leaves.

And I admit, I enjoy this strange attention. I know, it's stupid and totally crazy, and I should be letting my parents know about the weirdo who gets a kick out of watching my window every night.

But I've always been a strange child. My mom never fails to remind me.

I've always been fascinated with dark mysteries like serial killers, psychos, stalkers, gore and horror.

I've never been interested in Barbie dolls and ponies and stuff.

The first set of Barbie dolls my aunt Esmee got for me, I beheaded every one of them and set them ablaze, laughing maniacally as I watched them burn.

I was only four.

The first movie I ever watched was of a deranged killer who murdered an entire family with a bloody axe.

I was only eight.

My mom thought I needed help and took me to a therapist. Ten minutes into the session, the poor therapist discharged me, telling my mom to take me to a 'psychiatrist' instead.

I still laugh whenever I remember how embarrassed my mom had been. My dad who always took my side, had managed to convince her to let it go, that I would grow out of it.

But I've just turned twenty, and my love for everything dark and horror hasn't abated, which is one reason why I enjoy being watched by this stranger.

If my mom knows I have a stalker, she will go into a frenzy. She's overprotective, too overprotective.

My dad is worse. I'm his special baby girl, and he almost never lets me out of his sight.

My dad is a ruthless mafia don, and everyone knows him as Vegas Mafia Devil. He is greatly feared. He only came to Australia to start a family with mom, but his reputation is known worldwide.

If he finds out about this stalker, he will track him down and kill him. I know he will, because I have heard stories of how brutal he was before and after he met mom.

I can't let him know about it.

Besides, having a stalker is my little secret. No one knows, not my twin brother, my little sister, not even my closest friends.

It is my secret, and I intend to keep it that way.

I walk towards the window and peer out again. My heart does a little somersault when I see that he is closer to my window.

I see him a little clearly now. The sky is dark, and the storm is getting terrible. Yet he stands there, unfazed, untouched by everything around him.

The sky brightens up suddenly with a bolt of lightning, and a second later, thunder crashes loudly.

I jerk from the sound, but in the split second of bright light, I catch a glimpse of his eyes.

They're dark, soulless, as dark as a bottomless abyss. The remaining half of his face is hidden behind a black face mask.

My heart is pounding heavily now as I stare at him. He doesn't move towards my window again. He just stands there and... stares.

A torrent of rain comes flooding down and he finally moves.

He turns around, like he doesn't give a care in the world, and walks back into the darkness surrounding the trees.

I remain by my window, watching him walk away, my pounding heartbeat mirroring the storm raging outside.

This is the first time he has taken a step closer to my window. Other times, he stands a safe distance away.

He's gone now, and I stare at the spot he stood seconds ago.

He will be back. I know he will.

And I will be at the windowsill, waiting for him.