A haunting work of flash fiction that provokes one to wonder if we are ever truly alone…
by: Jacob Hammons
I lurk in the shadows, concealed by the trees. I move like the whispering wind and slip silently through the water’s currents. I watch you at your most vulnerable moments when you think you’re alone. I long to reach out, grasp you, and feel the warmth of your skin, but I can’t, so I remain The Watcher. I watch you as you sleep, as you eat, as you wander through the dark forest I call my home. Sometimes, you appear different — a different age, gender, or race — but my gaze never wavers. I am always here, always watching.
I can see you now, through the trees. You’re walking, pausing to snap pictures, blissfully unaware. Your long black hair cascades down your back, your eyes are as green as the forest around us, and your skin a shimmering golden hue. You smile, a radiant expression contrasting the shadows that surround you. You examine the photos you take, each one drawing you deeper into your own world and making you more oblivious to my presence. I take a step forward, curiosity drawing me closer, when I snap a branch beneath my foot, the sound reverberating through the stillness of the forest. Your body tenses up, your head snapping toward the noise. I retreat into the shadows, but I can see the flicker of fear in your eyes; you thought you were alone. You raise your camera and point it at me, desperate to capture what your eyes cannot. I watch as your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. You look up, and our eyes meet. I flash a chilling, knowing smile — you see me.
Many moons pass until I see you again. You are not alone. I see your shadows writhing against the fabric of your tent, the ghostly light of your lamp illuminating your every move. Frustration courses through me. I want to see more, to see the sweat drip off your bodies, the desperate breaths escaping your lips, the desire in your eyes for each other. I creep closer, drawn by an insatiable hunger, seeking a better view. There, a small mesh window reveals a tantalizing glimpse inside. Your bodies are pressed so close together I can’t tell where one stops and the other begins. I step forward, pressing my face against the mesh. Your breaths are heavy, your hair disheveled, and I watch your mouths open and close in silent ecstasy, your heads roll back. One of you opens your eyes and sees me watching. Terror courses through your body as you realize I am watching you, illuminated by the very lamp light that revealed you to me. Your eyes widen in horror; you thought you were alone. Your mouth opens in a scream, arm extended in my direction. Now both of you see me. I smile.
Next I see you. I am by the water. You’re watching me. Your tall, slender form glows pale as the moon, a specter in the night. Your beady black eyes bore into me, thin strands of dark hair framing your face, blowing in the slight breeze. You peer from behind a tree, long fingers curled around the trunk. I feel an eerie sense of familiarity in your presence. I smile, and you smile too, your mouth stretching across your face revealing a gaping abyss. You are a Watcher, and I am not alone.
Jacob Hammons is a writer from Spokane, Washington. He is currently a creative writing student at Eastern Washington University. He loves all things fantasy, sci-fi, and horror. When not writing, you can find him lost in the woods of the Pacific Northwest.
