My Secret Admirer

That day began as all the ones before. 

I awoke at 7 a.m., and rolled out of bed to the bathroom, feeling groggy. I worked from home doing a freelance job, but I still preferred to wake up early as though I had somewhere to be.

After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I threw on a bathrobe and went to the kitchen, aching for my daily cup of coffee. I shuffled around the kitchen, almost robotically out of routine. 

Once my coffee was on, I went to my office and booted up my computer. I saw I had a few notifications. I sighed and began dismissing. Most were random emails and promotions from various social media sites. I noticed one that seemed a bit strange. The subject line was simply, “hello.” I frowned. Must be some kind of spam, I thought. It was then that I noticed the email was sent from my own account, to myself. 

I opened the email. It was blank. How odd. I decided it was best to change my password and move on. I did so quickly, before I could forget. I changed it to something I could remember: Daisy120385!. My old family dog’s name, and my older brother’s birthday. I wondered if that was too weak, but I figured it wasn’t too big of a deal. I’d had my email hacked before, and I had just changed the password, and the problem was solved. 

I opened up the project I had been working on yesterday. I had made some good headway, but I wasn’t sure the quality was up to my standards. I bit my lip and sat back in my chair. I loved doing digital art on commission, but sometimes the requested images were challenging. The one I was currently working on was a piece for an older woman, of her and her dog. I had the dog down just fine, but for some reason I just couldn’t seem to get the eyes right for the woman. She kept looking sort of sad. I sighed and began to attempt to redraw her eye area, using the photo she sent me as reference. 

My computer “dinged” to let me know I had another email. 

I clicked on the notification without really thinking about it. My stomach dropped. It was from my own email, and sent to myself once again. 

Hello. Why did you ignore me?

I shook my head. This must be some sick spam email, or a virus. I flagged it as spam, deleted it, and then went back to my settings to change my password again. This time, I tried to be as random as I could. Bz2AO045*!. I wrote it down on a slip of paper so that I wouldn’t forget. I slipped the paper into my desk drawer. 

Satisfied, I got up and retrieved my piping hot coffee from the kitchen. I came back to the computer and worked on the drawing for the rest of the morning. 

At around 1 p.m., I decided to take a break and make myself some lunch. Nothing special, just grilled cheese and some chips. 

I sat back down on my computer, only to find that my drawing was not there. Had I closed it before going to make food? I hadn’t thought so…. 

I opened my project folder. It wasn’t there. Oh, please, no, I thought, beginning to panic. If this art was missing, I was screwed. I had promised it would be done by the end of the day Friday. That was tomorrow. I frantically clicked through my folders and other areas of my computer, heart racing. Where could it have gone? 

Eventually, I had to resign myself to the fact that my art was gone. I needed to start over. I opened up a new document and began to sketch the outlines, fighting back frustrated tears. I hated putting out subpar work, as I felt it was unfair to the client, and it gave me a bad reputation. I decided that if I couldn’t come up with something by the end of the day tomorrow, I would give the woman a discount and an apology, and extend the deadline. 

I realized I was pushing rather hard on my stylus. I relaxed my hand, taking a deep breath. It’s okay, I told myself. 

My computer “dinged” again. Oh God.

My stomach dropped. This time it was a Facebook message. It was from a user with no photo. The name simply said “Unknown.” I wondered why Facebook hadn’t removed the profile yet. Especially after I read the message. 

Hey, Daisy120385!, Bz2AO045*!, it read. Why won’t you talk to me?

I gasped. Who was this asshole? They had my passwords…. How on earth did they get my newest one? I had only written it on the small slip of paper. Was this some sort of dark web operation? Had my information been sold?

I reported the Unknown profile, and then blocked them. I decided it would be best if I saved my newest art onto one of my hard drives, so as not to lose it again. I couldn’t be sure if this mysterious creep was behind it, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I uploaded it onto my hard drive and unplugged it from my computer. 

My email notification chimed. 

I couldn’t help it. I clicked on it. 

Nice idea. Doesn’t matter though. You’ll have to finish it at some point. 

My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest. How did they know? Did they have access to my whole computer? 

Rage blinded me. I angrily typed, What the fuck is wrong with you?

I knew as soon as I sent it to “myself” it was a bad idea. I should have downloaded some anti-virus software or something. Although, it was becoming clear this was not a virus. Someone hacked into my computer. And they knew what I was doing. 

I received a message almost immediately in response. 

Hey, that’s rude. I’m just trying to be friends. You seemed stressed with work, so I got rid of it for you.

I didn’t believe my eyes. How was this happening to me? Why me?

I typed back, Fuck you. I worked hard on that, and I needed it tomorrow. I hit send. I wondered if that was even necessary. Could he just see what I was typing regardless?

Well, you looked sad. 

My stomach clenched. I looked sad? No, they must have been bluffing. I quickly went through my desk drawers, finally finding some duct tape. I took a small piece and covered the webcam. 

Almost instantly, I received another message. 

That’s not going to stop me. 

I felt close to having a panic attack. Should I call the police? I wondered. It seemed like a good option, although I was unsure if this was little more than a cruel prank. 

I knew I shouldn’t engage with this psycho, but I couldn’t help myself. The more information I could get from them, the better. Right?

Who are you? I said. It was simple, and they were unlikely to answer, but I figured why not. 

I’m someone who cares for you deeply, they responded. I guess you could say I’m your ‘secret admirer’. I’ve seen you often before. I just… Couldn’t help myself. You’re so beautiful.

I felt sick. Was this someone I knew? Someone stalking me? 

Don’t be a creep. If you like me, and know me in real life, why didn’t you just talk to me? I responded. I hoped that if I kept my responses neutral and polite, they wouldn’t do anything else to my computer.

This is a better way. Plus, I said ‘secret admirer,’ remember? It’s a secret.

I shuddered slightly. Maybe they were just some smart geek who took things too far…. 

Well, I have a boyfriend. I’m not interested. He’ll be home soon. I wrote. It wasn’t true. But I hoped it would deter this person.

You don’t have a boyfriend. You live alone. You barely even have friends. You leave the house once a week for food. You’re alone.

I pushed my chair back from my computer. How could they possibly know? Lucky guess? I cast my eyes around the room, as though expecting to see cameras pointed at me. If there were any, I didn’t see them….

Are you watching me? I typed. I hesitated, my finger over my mouse, ready to click “send.” Did I want to know the answer? Maybe not... 

I pressed send anyway. 

Of course. I told you I cared for you. 

How did you get onto my computer? I asked. 

It’s simple really. You don’t have much cyber security. 

But why me? I said. 

I told you already. I think I’m in love with you. And I have a proposition.

What? I asked tentatively.

I want to commission a drawing from you. I have attached a picture. 

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what it was. 

I opened it. Curiosity got the better of me. It was the outside of my apartment building. 

I gasped. I’d had enough. This was some sick person trying to scare me. I unplugged my computer, and went into the main room of my apartment to ensure my front door was locked. It was. 

I went into the kitchen, and picked up my phone, toying with the idea of calling the police. Could they do anything? 

It was then I received another email. 

You fucking ignoring me? Turning off your computer? Fuck you bitch. I said I loved you, and no response? 

I dropped my phone. I hastily retrieved it from the kitchen floor, brushing it off. I didn’t reply to the email. My phone buzzed again.

You know what I could fucking do to you? 

Frightened beyond belief, yet still not certain I wasn’t just part of some elaborate prank, I didn’t open the message. Maybe if I ignored it, they would stop bothering me. 

What a futile hope. 

My phone began buzzing erratically. Emails and Facebook messages, and even texts were bombarding me. 

You bitch.

I hate you.

How could you do this to me?

Why won’t you talk to me?

I want my drawing. 

I didn’t know what to do. 

I went into my bedroom, curled up on the bed, nearing tears. What was going on? 

I jumped when I heard a knock at my door. Was it safe to look? 

Surely, I could look through the peephole. I went to my kitchen first, and retrieved a knife. I crossed the living room to the front door, hands shaking. I tried to be as quiet as possible. 

I looked through the peephole. I saw it was a FedEx delivery man. He held a package. 

I wasn’t expecting anything. 

“Um...could you just drop it off?” I asked. My voice quivered and sounded rather shrill. 

“It needs a signature,” the man said. 

“Um, okay,” I said. 

I took a deep breath. It was probably just my mom sending me something, I thought. She didn’t live far away, but she often mailed me books or little trinkets she thought I would like. 

I unlocked and opened the door a crack. 

The man looked rather bored. He held out a keypad with a stylus for me to sign. 

I took it hastily and scribbled my signature. 

He handed me the package in exchange for the keypad. 

“Have a good day ma’am,” he said dully. 

I almost wondered if I should ask him for help. Would it do me any good? 

He was already at his truck. I guess not.

I closed the front door and locked it firmly. 

I looked at the package. It was messily wrapped, with the FedEx label stuck on with Scotch tape. 

The return address looked familiar. I realized it was the local library. Probably a bad sign. 

Should I even open it? 

My phone buzzed in my pocket again. 

Did you get my present?

Oh shit. Was it dangerous? Could it be a bomb? I thought erratically. 

It was rather small if it was a bomb. 

I used the knife I had to open the box. A small item wrapped in tissue paper fell out on my couch. It couldn’t have been larger than a wallet or phone. 

I unwrapped it, adrenaline coursing through me. 

It was a hard drive. Much like the one I owned. 

Plug it in. 

As if in a trance, I went to my office and plugged in my computer, turning it on. 

I plugged in the hard drive. 

Pictures began to pop up. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. I didn’t think to look. It was photos of me, all stretching back to possibly the last year. Me getting groceries. Me in my car. Me visiting my mother on her porch. My heart stopped when I saw the most recent. It was my front door, and the FedEx man outside, hand raised to knock. 

That’s it, I decided. I was going to call the police. 

I picked up my phone and began dialing. I heard the dial tone, and one ring, before it was cut off. I looked down at my phone, perplexed. It was just a blank white screen. Was it broken? Could that...person... have gotten ahold of my phone too? 

What now? 

My computer “dinged” with another notification. 

Don’t even bother. 

I began crying. What could I do? 

I decided asking a neighbor for help was my best bet. I was sure I looked crazy, all disheveled in my bathrobe. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time. 

I grabbed my phone (a lot of good that was doing me) and my keys, and rushed out of my apartment, hastily locking the door behind me. I quickly went to my neighbor’s door, and knocked as politely as I could manage. 

I didn’t know my neighbors well, but I did recognize the woman that answered. She was older, in her mid-fifties perhaps. I didn’t know if she lived alone or not.

“Um hi,” I said awkwardly. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I use your phone?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” she said. “I have a landline... Come on in.”

“Thank you so much,” I said. I went inside. Her apartment was the same layout as mine, but much more organized and decorated. She led me to her tidy kitchen, and handed me her phone. 

I dialed 911 hastily. My neighbor looked concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly, though I wasn’t sure that was true. “I just… had some weird messages this morning, they were concerning, so I figured… I figured I should call the police. My phone is broken.”

She nodded, brow furrowed. I think she may have thought I was crazy.

After a few rings, the 911 operator picked up. I hastily explained the situation. She assured me they would send an officer over as soon as possible.

I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You want to stay here?” my neighbor asked. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just wait for them at my apartment.”

“Okay,” she said. She still seemed concerned. 

“Thank you though,”  I said. “It’s probably just some prank or joke anyway….”

I thanked her again, and went back to my own apartment, once again taking care to lock the door behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief. I went to my kitchen and finished my coffee. 

My sense of security was short-lived. 

I heard a floorboard creak in my bedroom. On high-alert again, I grabbed another kitchen knife. 

“Who’s there?” I said, in some attempt to sound tough.

There was no reply.

I thought maybe I was imagining things, until I heard the sound of my closet door shutting. 

Oh shit. I hoped the police were on their way. 

Shakily, I stepped into my bedroom. It looked normal, but I did see that the closet door was indeed shut. 

I approached it, unsure of my plan. 

I gripped the doorknob and threw the door open, brandishing my knife. There was no-one there. Had I imagined it? 

Before I could think it may have been a trick, I felt strong arms wrap around my waist. 

I screamed. 

A deep voice whispered in my ear, “Don’t be scared baby.”

I tried to use my knife, but the man was far stronger than me and easily disarmed me. He now had both my arms pinned to my sides, standing behind me.

I screamed again, and thrashed around as hard as I could.

“Come on, don’t make this harder,” he said. He had a very smooth, deep voice. 

“Fuck you!” I shouted. I hoped the police were almost here.

“No no,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re going to come with me. You’ll be happy with me. Your secret admirer.”

“No!” I shouted. Maybe the neighbor would hear me and help, I hoped. But no one came. “You’re a fucking creep!”

The man easily flipped me around, still gripping my arms. He was wearing a black balaclava, and black clothes. He struck me as the type of computer nerd who took himself way too seriously and had seen too many hacker and spy movies. In most cases, that would be funny. Not this one.

“I’m not yours, I don’t even know you,” I shouted.

His dark eyes looked hurt. “I was willing to forgive you for ignoring my messages,” he said. “But I think this is too far.”

I screamed again, but he shoved something into my mouth. I nearly choked. 

“Shut up,” he said coldly. 

He shoved me onto my bed face first, pinning me down with what felt like his knee. I felt plastic on my arm. He was zip-tying my wrists. I tried to kick him. He pushed my leg down and twisted it painfully. I whimpered. 

I didn’t dare think of what his plan was. This man had clearly been stalking me and watching me for months, almost a year. There was no doubt this would not end well for me. 

I could feel him beginning to tie up my ankles as well. 

“Don’t struggle—” he began, before being abruptly cut off. 

A deafening blast shook the room. I could feel the pressure of the man slip off of me. 

Ears ringing, I strained my body, looking to see what the hell had happened. 

My neighbor stood there, holding a gun. She looked grim. My attacker was sprawled on the floor. 

Wide-eyed, I asked, in a muffled voice due to the gag, “What the fuck…?”

She hastened to my side and pulled the fabric out of my mouth. “Are you okay?”

I nodded weakly. 

“The cops should be here soon,” she assured me. “I heard you yell, so I thought...It was better not to wait.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t look at the man on my bedroom floor.  

“Is he…”

“Dead? Don’t know,” my neighbor said. “We’ll see. Should be, since I got him in the head.”

I sat there in some sort of stupor, as she retrieved scissors from the kitchen and cut the zip ties. The police arrived not long after. They asked me some questions, and I suppose I answered them. I don’t remember what I said. The police took photos of the scene, and collected some evidence, including the hard drive he sent. They declared my assailant dead. He was never identified. 

It’s been a few weeks since the incident. I was finally starting to feel safe in my apartment again. I got a new computer, and got a security system installed. My neighbor finally stopped checking up on me, and I stopped obsessively checking my apartment for intruders every day. I got back into the swing of things, and started doing my art again. I was doing so well. 

Tonight, I received an email. 

I’ve missed you.