“Hello, I miss you. I love you. I want you.” That was all the postcard said.
I stood in my kitchen staring at the handwriting. I had no idea who the postcard was from and didn’t recognize the handwriting. I flipped the card over and it was a nondescript photo of a hot air balloon. I wasn’t quite sure yet if I should be nervous about this random and creepy card or if I should just let it go. The problem with just letting it go was the fact the postcard did have my name and new address on it.
Would the police even be able to do anything if I showed them the card? I technically haven’t been harassed other than this card. I threw the postcard into my junk drawer and tried to forget about it. The more I tried to forget, the more I began to obsess. I tried to envision a tall, dark and handsome man like all the romance novels talked about, but all I dreamed about was a serial killer breaking in and watching me like all the podcasts talked about.
A month went by without another word and I had finally convinced myself to throw the original postcard away when another arrived. All it said was “Tomorrow.” I didn’t know how he could know so much about me and how I was going to disappear. I hadn’t told a soul. Someone had been in my house. Someone had been watching me. Stalking me.