Kelly span around, out of breath, and leant against the door, trying to catch some composure as her computer chair still circled on the other side of the room.
She took a number of deep breaths, attempting to force herself to realise that no matter how chilling, and outright terrifying, those photos were, they were taken miles away. She was in her own home now. This wasn’t the open clearing at the lakeside. Her house wasn’t an exposed tent.
But her heart still beat vigorously.
Suddenly there were two vibrations that were coming from her back, not her chest, and the sound of the double thump was deafening.
That was not her heart.
Kelly screamed and fell forward without fear of the floor, landing awkwardly on her wrists and knees, and scrambled a few feet away before turning and sitting on the laminate flooring.
There were tears running down her face now.
She found herself caught in between whether to ask, ’hello?’, whether to run, hide, call the cops, something other than answer the door. It was a ridiculous thought that the photographer had managed to find her home.
Had he followed her? She had left the campsite early though. It was deathly quiet when she had done so too. There at least were no other cars around. Definitely. And that forest road had been clear and quiet for the entirety of its good five miles or so before it joined up with the main road.
There had hardly been a bird in the sky.
As she retraced her memories of leaving the campsite, and struggled with the options of what to do next, three more knocks landed on her front door.
There was no window through the door, or on either side, and so whoever it was couldn’t see her. Unlike in the woods. That, for a moment was comforting, until the realisation that she had now convinced herself that it was the photographer on the other side.
Her breathing was short and sharp, but she pulled herself to her feet.
On a small table next to the door was her phone. Next to the door. She wanted to call someone, she didn’t know who, but that’s all that she was thinking about now. Getting to that phone and dialling a number.
Carefully she took small and deliberate steps closer to the door. She was sweating. When she got about two feet away, she tried to stretch across to the receiver, rather than move closer. But she hadn’t heard anything from her visitor in what had seemed like an age. In reality it had only been a matter of seconds.
She made a last exaggerated lunge for the phone, and grabbed it from its stand. She jumped two steps back in one go, raised it to her right ear, and…
A flash of light, and the stereotypical sound of a camera flash.