Carly Beleau

Nov. 12, 2024

The Watched

I have known her for six years, and I have been in love with her every second. I first saw her—Annabella,

with her doe eyes and auburn hair draped over her shoulders—and was struck speechless right in the

middle of the public library. I didn’t believe in love at first sight; my dad claimed he did before he left my

mom for his twenty-year-old yoga girlfriend, so frankly, I thought it was shallow. Annabella was

beautiful in a French poetry sort of way, but it was her way of speaking about beauty that drew me in. My

mom used to call me an old soul, and Annabella said she liked that about me.

For four years, our friendship grew deeper, but my desire for a romantic relationship went unrequited.

Then, in junior year, she started seeing me in a new light—or rather, saw my writing in a romantic way. I

left her anonymous letters, poems, and paper flowers, too afraid to risk losing her completely. She would

rave to me about feeling so connected and seen by her admirer, and after a year of this, I finally came

clean on my seventeenth birthday. I felt as if I could see her soul in the way she looked at me, making my

chest ache. Then suddenly, I was on fire at the feel of her touch—Annabella was kissing me! From that

moment on, we haven’t been apart for more than twenty-four hours.

I’ve never kept a journal, and honestly, this feels strange; I don’t even know who I’m writing to, but I

need to. Since starting college, I’ve woken up hugging my pillow with tear stains on my sleeve every

single day. I know we promised to pursue our best opportunities, but I hate that it led us to live three

states apart, separated by a four-hour flight.

I’ve adapted somewhat. I like my roommate, Paul. W

campus, at least five people say hi to him. Those I’ve met before usually call me “Brian,” “Brandon,” or

“Braydon”—which is ironic, since my name starts with an R. My mom named me after the author Ryan

Holiday, which sparked my love for reading.

Honestly, I wish I felt as lonely as I should. I keep sensing someone watching me, no matter where I am. I

haven’t been sleeping well, and every night at three a.m. sharp, my window blows open, and the bushes

outside rustle. I thought I was lucky to get a first-floor dorm in this old, elevator-less university, but I

didn’t consider people or things just walking up.

One day, I went with Paul to one of the dining halls, and a few of his friends joined us. They included me

in the conversation, but I just nervously picked at my cuticles, kicking myself for not having anything to

say. They told stories about how many people had died here; with Yale being one of America’s oldest

universities, it wasn’t a stretch. They said some claimed all the dorms were haunted by students who had

committed suicide and held a hatred for anyone smarter than them.

I know it sounds childish, but between my own experiences and their ghost stories, I started to feel uneasy

in my dorm room. Every morning call, I told Annabella about the shadow in the woods across from my

window. Like clockwork, he was there, lurking, and I know it sounds crazy, but I felt his anger.

Yesterday, despite Annabella’s concern, I decided to step out and get a closer look. That’s when I found a

dead bird with a pointed stick lodged in its chest. As if that wasn’t disturbing enough, every hair on my

body stood up when I read the tiny, bloody note attached: “I’m watching.”

Today, there’s been a knock on my door every hour, but no one is ever there when I check. My mind is

bouncing between the endless possibilities of what could be haunting me. I don’t know which would

scare me more: a person or something beyond human understanding. Maybe I’ve upset a specter, my
studies reminding him of what drove him mad, or maybe I’m the specific typology of a local serial killer.

I’ve so far chalked it up to my incessant reading of horror and true crime.

Needing to clear my mind I decided to go for a walk. I ran into Greg, Jacob, Janine, and Barbra, Paul’s

friends from the dining hall a few days ago. They sparked a conversation with me, the best scenario for

me, as I definitely would have avoided eye contact otherwise. They invited me to go eat with them at a

restaurant on campus, and I indulged. It settled the pressure in my chest, I was starting to think I would

never make friends. After we ate, I decided to finish my walk, still feeling my neck hairs standing up, I

was starting to get used to the feeling, yet, I’m still trying to walk it off.

I finally got back to my dorm just after dark. The dark hallways were more silent than I thought possible.

I took slow steps in the dim light of my phone, crept to my dorm room, and reached for my door handle.

The knob felt cold, and something slick was on it. When I look down and see a deep red liquid on my

hands I start praying that it’s my new friends playing a prank; after all, Paul teased me for days about

being afraid of the ghosts on campus.

I ease into the room, every bone in my body screaming to turn around, and find the limp bodies of all five

of them: Janine had her throat slit, Greg was swinging from the fan, Jacob was choked with a belt that

belongs to me, Barbra was shot in the head, and the most gruesome of all, Paul was decapitated. I wanted

to keep praying that this was a prank, but how could his head possibly be separated from his body as a

joke?

Right as this thought crossed my mind, my window pushed open, and I saw a shadow jumping between

trees. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe in, yet somehow my breath caught when I caught a glimpse

of auburn hair. I immediately called Annabella, it had to be a coincidence, but my stomach dropped to my

feet when I thought about harm coming to her.

I have been afraid of the dark since I was a child, the trees distorted, and I felt watched. I didn’t think I’d

have the balls, but I guess flight or fight is true because I chased the sound through the woods. I saw her

hair again. At this point, I don’t have anything in my mind but “run”.

I caught her.

I assessed her body for blood. She was covered.

“What happened? Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Why did you run away? Who are you running

from? Are you chasing someone?”

She stares at me, blank-faced and silent.

It’s when I assess her further that I realize that she isn’t holding any wound, she isn’t toppled over in pain,

anything. She’s not injured and she’s covered in blood?

“Was-was it you?”

“I told you I was watching.”