Mr. Ellis's Smoke and Mirrors

They claim that I am untrustworthy, but how can they tell?

The café's windows let in an abundance of evening light, which gleams on the polished cutlery and teacups. I can feel the guests around me staring at me as I raise my cup to my lips, making my hands shake. Although I'm aware that they're observing, I've always been a fascinating topic, haven't I? Mr. Ellis, that quirky old man with the expensive clothing and enigmatic past. They adore murmuring to themselves.

Things weren't always like this. Once upon a time, I strolled these streets carelessly, unobserved, and unrestrained. They now treat me as though I'm dangerous and might lose my temper at any time. I don't know where the errors occurred.

I believe it started with the letters. The letters, indeed.

I. The Words

The first one showed up in late spring, tucking under my front door's brass knocker with style. The envelope had a cream tint and was made of paper with a subtle texture, as though someone had touched it with their fingertips before putting it there. Without a return address, naturally.

I carefully opened it, thinking it would be some forgotten bill or an invitation to a garden party that I still hadn't replied to. Rather, there was a little letter inside:

Watch out for the man with the red coat, Ellis. You underestimate how much he knows.

At first, I shrugged it off, assuming it was some sort of silly joke. However, the penmanship was recognizable. Or rather, it prickled the borders of my recollection, feeling familiar. It bothered me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was like a name that's on the tip of your tongue but you can't quite remember.

Then I caught sight of him.

Walking down Rosebury Street the following day, I saw the man with the red coat. He was tall, with graying hair, and his coat drew attention right away because of its ridiculous hue of crimson. I don't suppose he looked at me, but even so, when he went by, I felt his presence like a shadow sticking to my skin.

When I looked back, he had already left.

I was unable to sleep that evening. It was all a coincidence, I assured myself. Rosebury Street is after all well-liked, and a red coat, though out of the ordinary, is not unheard of. Nevertheless, the letter continued to bother me, the words reverberating inside my mind until they were all that was audible.

2. The Observer

The letters kept coming, each one more mysterious than the last. One told me not to go near the library, and another told me not to go down the alley beside the old theater. However, they consistently showed up before any noteworthy events.

It turned into a routine, a kind of eerie game. Something odd would happen, I'd see the man in the red coat, and I'd get a letter.

A vase once fell off a windowsill while I was passing by. Another time, I was getting off the sidewalk when a cart wheel snapped.

Maybe a coincidence. Still, the coincidences mounted. They persisted until I was forced to consider the idea that someone was arranging them.

But who was the question?

I made the decision to contact the police. It was a foolish idea after all. Would anyone really believe me? Nevertheless, I felt an intense need to clarify the messages, the man dressed in red, and the peculiar happenings that appeared to be all around me.

The officer I spoke with narrowed his eyes as I spoke, looking at me with a mix of mistrust and sympathy. outlined the sequence of occurrences. I observed as he jotted a few hurried notes in a little black notebook, his fingers tapping against his desk.

He answered, "I'm sure it's nothing, Mr. Ellis," but his tone suggested that he wasn't convinced. "These issues tend to resolve themselves."

I saw him again at that point.

The man with the red coat was standing across the street from me and observing me through the window behind the officer's desk. I paused, my heart thumping in my chest, but before I could blink, he had vanished, engulfed by the throng.

The officer inquired, his voice cutting through my apprehension, "Is something wrong, Mr. Ellis?" I ran out of the station after murmuring an apology about feeling under the weather.

As I walked, my mind raced, the city fading in front of me. How could he have anticipated my presence? Was he observing me? And why was it that only I had noticed him?

III. The Fall

From then on, I attempted to stay off of Rosebury Street. I no longer visit the library. I no longer went to the theater. However, the letters kept coming, drawing me farther and further into my insanity with each one.

Be wary of the woman wearing the blue scarf.

Watch out for the limping dog.

Ellis, someone has been inside your home. They're observing.

The last one was the tipping point. Even after I locked all the windows and doors and verified that all the latches were in place, the paranoia persisted. At night, I started to hear footsteps creaking.

Behind closed doors, murmurs on the floor. When I woke up, things would have changed and been placed somewhere I hadn't left them. A little misaligned chair here, a book out of place there.

I went up to Mrs. Grange, my housekeeper, and accused her of interfering with my personal matters. With her wide, perplexed eyes, she gazed at me and insisted that she had done nothing wrong. However, I was aware of this. It was evident in the way she averted my eyes and the shakes in her hands when she swept the shelves.

IV. The Slippage of Truth

Everyone believes that I'm going crazy. When I walk by, I can hear the whispers of the shops averting their eyes and the neighbors exchanging glances. Even the physician I consulted after

The lack of sleep became intolerable, prompting me to consider taking a break and spending some time in the countryside.

But when I'm being observed, how can I sleep?

Now it seems that the man in the red coat shows up more often, but he's always out of reach and at a distance. He occasionally stands outside my window at night, his figure silhouetted by the light from the streetlamp. I spend hours observing him, waiting for him to move, but he never does. He does nothing more than observe while holding out.

And then came the last letter.

"They're coming for you, Ellis. You possess much knowledge.*

It said just that. No signature. Nothing to explain. However, I was aware. I knew it was almost over.

I I, surrounded my house and waited for them, whatever they were. My heart raced at the sound of the floors creaking and the breeze brushing against the windows.

Days went by with no one showing up. However, that did not imply my safety.

V. The Visitor

The knock came late one evening, maybe a week after the previous letter. My heart pounded in my chest as I froze. I hadn't noticed any shadows moving by the windows, nor had I heard anyone approaching. But there it was, a quiet, purposeful knock.

I held the handle with shaking hands and hesitated before opening the door. Upon eventually unsnapping it, I saw the man with the red coat standing there, his face concealed by a large hat brim.

He remained silent, but his presence cast a thick hush across the area between us. My want to yell and demand answers was overwhelming, but I was unable to speak.

Who are you? At last, I mumbled something.

Then he grinned, a slow, deliberate smile that made me feel really cold. Ellis, you are aware of who I am. You've been aware of it all along.

I took a step back, feeling the weight of his words overwhelm me. Naturally. Why hadn't I noticed it earlier?

The weird happenings, the warnings, and the letters hadn't come from some outside source. They were written by myself.

It has always been me.

The red-coated figure moved ahead and through the doorway into my house. His gaze

shone in the twilight, and his face twisted and warped as he approached, resembling a mirror in a rippling lake. I blinked and found myself staring at my own face, which was hidden beneath the red coat.

"It's me, Ellis," he muttered. "The aspect of yourself that you've made a great effort to ignore."

VI. The Dissecting

The days that ensued remain indistinct. Like smoke, my memories swirl and twist as they pass between my fingertips. I sometimes believe I can still make out the man in the red coat, skulking at the edges of my vision. But now that I know the truth. I am him,Or maybe I am him.

Around me, the city is changing and people are carrying on with their lives as if nothing had happened. However, I notice how they now avoid eye contact with me when I walk by. Despite their inability to pinpoint it, they are aware that something is off.

I once tried to explain it to Dr. Wilton, but all he did was smile condescendingly and advise me to get more sleep.

But knowing what I've done, how can I sleep?

I believe that everything—including the letters, the alerts, and the man in the red coat—was a fabrication or a defensive tactic. A strategy to shield myself from reality

The fact is, I'm not feeling good. that it is me who is untrustworthy