The Stalker

Entry for the Fall Flash Prose Challenge 2011. Please leave your comments.

It was a horrible day in the Russell household. I had gotten rid of him. And now, I was free. Free from his sharp gaze. Free from his stealth. Free from his know-it-all grin. I was finally free. And it should have made me feel happy. But somehow it didn't.

The sadness that I felt was overwhelming. I could feel myself drowning in sorrow over the sin I had committed. It was against everything I believed in, against my values. But I had been suffocating everyday in his presence. I had no other choice.

For the past month, he had been following me around. Whenever I went to the deli, or to the salon, or even to Mrs. Krumbski's next door, his yellow eyes would follow me. That direct, unwavering yellow gaze made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was so unnerving. His silent footsteps padded around the house and even when I didn't see him, I knew he was around.

Once he had tried to attack me. His orange hair had stood on end as he had viciously swung his body in my direction. I had side-stepped and forced Nathan to show him the door, but it still hadn't eased my mind. 

He had continued to follow me around. I don't know whether I had imagined it or not, but I did recall seeing him across the street, waiting for me, while I was returning home from work. I had seen the glimmer in his yellow, opaque eyes, as if they were taunting me; as if they were daring me to make a dash for it while the entire town watched.

Even when I was in the shower, I could imagine his soft, slow breaths echoing and bounding off the tiles of the kitchen. His muddy footprints would leave behind evidence of his presence when I came down for my morning coffee. The tell-tale signs would all be there. His orange hair, which had a tendency to break often, would litter the living room. His awful stench would overpower any and every other odour. 

He was a beast, a killer. I had never seen him hunt but I did have evidence of his callousness. Once, with his hands covered in red, bright liquid, which had to be blood, he had proudly entered the house from the back entrance. Not stopping at that, he had had the audacity to place before me, as an offering, a dead pigeon. It had been so foul that I had screamed and then puked my guts out. I had yelled for Nathan to throw him out of the house. What had surprised me was that he didn't protest at this treatment being meted out to him, but had in fact looked sad. His big, yellow eyes had shone with unshed tears.

But a couple of nights ago, the back of the camel had finally been broken. Nathan had gone out with his colleagues and I had decided to call it a night. I had snuggled into my favourite blanket and had my book ready to read. However, I guess I was too tired to even turn a couple of pages and had fallen asleep. Next thing I know, he had crept into my bed. Beside me.

I had been horridly spooked. I had called the local shelter and had asked them to take him off my hands. I had had enough of this menace with his yellow, saucer-like eyes and his orange, rugged hair. And that was the end of Tabby, the stray cat. He had been put down.

The End

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