She paced around the house. Her heart was racing, as she absently turned the teapot on, only to jolt as it began screaming.

Apparently she’d forgotten she’d just turned it off.

With a trembling hand she poured herself a cuppa, resisting the urge to go back to her front room, and peer anxiously up and down the street.

It had started three days ago. When she got the very first email that said

i know you.

She’d dismissed it. Deleted it. Made it go away.

But the next day there was another.

i know you. And soon you will know me.

That one had been harder to swallow. Harder to simply hit the delete button.

Today, she had been wary as she opened her email. There was nothing. She’d breathed a sigh of relief, and read through her mail. There were the replies to her blog, emails from her friends, and blog subscriptions to be read through.

A new email pinged on the screen as she finished writing to her favorite fan/friend.

It was the mystery person. She didn’t know even if he was really a man or not.  Friend or foe. But this was a longer note than the prior two, and it had sent a chill of fear straight through her.

She pulled the teabag from her mug, poured milk into it. Her hand was still shaking. Putting the milk away, she sipped at the hot tea, and checked to make sure the back door was locked.

She never locked her doors.

Pacing around the back of the house, she remonstrated herself.

“Don’t be such a ninny. There’s nothing out there. Go sit and do your stuff while the kids are in school, while Quin is at work.”

Her words failed to ease the knot in her belly. Taking a deep breath,  she closed her eyes trying to reach that quiet place that yoga brought her to. Focus on the breath, focus on the in and the out.

She heard a sound on the back porch and squealed.

Her eyes flew open in panic.  Even as she dashed to the window  the thought flitted through her mind…this is when the girl in the horror flicks get it…eaten by zombies, because she gave into curiosity.

At least she wasn’t in skimpy underwear.

There was a squirrel sitting on her back porch railing eating a peanut.


She snatched up her teacup, face blushing with relief and that foolish feeling. A fucking squirrel, forcrissakes.  Get a few  weird,  fucking emails and here she was just going to pieces.  Shit.

“Fuck it,” she said to the squirrel. He flipped his tail and leapt from the railing.

She went to her front parlor, and opened her laptop. She couldn’t resist looking out the bay window, up and down her quiet street.


Not a car, nor a person broke the silence of Friday morning. Kids were in school a half mile away, down at the end of her street. Her neighbors were at work. In a while, a woman driving a white Buick would come to pick up her elderly mother from the apartments  across the street, and take her out for an early lunch, as she did every Friday.

She couldn’t believe that she was so jumpy.

She opened her email program and deliberately brought it back up, and reread it.

I can see you as you sit and write your smut. Your blog is fantastic and I find myself wanting to fuck you just as you describe in your stories.

I see your profile as you type, so intently, your dark little fantasies.

I especially like your rape fantasies.

You know the ones, slut, where a man comes upon a slut and just takes her. Uses her.

Fucks her brainless.

In your stories, he always makes her cum. Makes her submit her will to his. That is my favorite part, when “he” forces her body to submit, to admit that she likes it.

To admit that she wants to be fucked this way.

Soon, sweet slut, soon, I will make your fantasies come to life.

In lust,

your secret admirer.

She was mad now. The nerve of this bastard! How dare he assume that she wanted to be fucked just like she wrote about. That’s why it was called *fiction* fercrissakes.

Fucking jerk.

She pushed away from the table. No one, no one, was going to make her this fearful. Anyone could write anything to her, that was true. But their own fiction wasn’t truth.

Dammit, she was not going to live in fear in her own fucking house. Taking a slug of her tea, she stormed out,  intent on unlocking her back door. As she stepped into the kitchen, she froze.

Dressed in black, a black bag at his feet,  the kitchen door open behind him, he smiled at her.