Bear

The thing on the doorstep made me shudder. I only brought it inside because I felt sorry for it. And it was starting to rain. It sits on my worktop pathetically. All grey and cuddly and wanting to be loved. Here we go again.

That is the third time this month. I’m tempted to open the cutlery drawer, grab those meat scissors and go at it. Bear haircut. Cause him a bit of pain. Hurt him. Frighten him off. Those beady little black eyes stare back at me, almost defiantly. I must be going mad. They remind me of a shark’s. Cold and predatory.

 Who does he think he is? Oblivious to my feelings of fear and unease. I don’t want him. This is not an innocent token of undying love. This is infatuation. Obsession. Bloody relentless. Wrong.

My stomach churns at the thought. Nerves. I think I’m going to be sick. A teddy bear to show me he isn’t dangerous. I have told him, but not to his face. I have never seen his face. The moonlight etches through my kitchen blinds and falls on its soft outline. This creeps me out. It isn’t soft. This is perversion with paws and a nose. The same moonlight peeks through the crack in my bedroom curtains as I lie in bed, unable to sleep,  thinking I have a…I can’t say it.

Yes I can. Stalker.

This is an unwanted gift from a stranger. I don’t know who he is.

I don’t want to.

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