Friday, May 2nd, 2025.
It was day one of three for my night shift in the ER. Sometimes I wake up full of energy before work, and sometimes that energy sends me to Walmart for food and drinks. I swear I can never leave Walmart without spending at least thirty dollars—most of it on drinks. I always grab cran-grape juice, chocolate milk, and three Monsters.
Before you ask: no, those Monsters are not for me, no, they aren’t for drinking in one night, and yes, they’re all for one person. That person, whom we’ll call Sam, is the one I bring the Monsters to—and the one I texted when all this happened.
Picture this: a 5'5", 120-pound girl with glasses, black scrubs, and piercings covering her ears, sprinting into Walmart in the pouring rain just to grab drinks and mac and cheese. A sad sight, honestly. By the time I hit the doors, the bottoms of my pants were soaked like I’d pulled them straight from the washer.
Naturally, Walmart had no baskets. But I was prepared for this. Honestly, it’s probably a good thing, considering what my total could’ve been with a basket.
I stopped at the front to grab my drinks, shoes squeaking on the concrete floor. I felt… off. Uneasy, like something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t explain why. I headed toward the back of the store. My watch read 17:10. I had to be clocked in by 17:45. That always makes me anxious, even though the hospital is less than five minutes away.
My shoes squeaked faster as I picked up the pace. I needed to grab my Panera Bread mac and cheese from the deli.
As I passed the baking aisle, I felt it—eyes on me. That quiet, creeping pressure that raises the hairs on your neck. Not imagined. Not paranoia. Just real.
I slowed down, pretending to check a shelf of frosting tubes, and risked a glance behind me.
That’s when I saw him.
Tall. Late thirties, maybe. A gray hoodie pulled low over his face. An empty basket in one hand, like he forgot why he picked it up.
No cart. No groceries. Just following.
I turned away fast, trying not to let my pace change. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just headed the same direction. Walmart’s full of weirdos, right?
I grabbed my mac and cheese and took off, weaving through frozen foods and aisles I didn’t need, just to test it. My fingers flew across my screen.
Me: “Sam. Some guy is following me around Walmart, I swear.”
Three dots appeared.
Sam: “Are you alright?”
Every time I looked back, he was there—not close enough to confront, but just close enough to be wrong.
My hands were shaking by the time I reached self-checkout. I dropped a bottle. It hit the floor and rolled under another register, and I didn’t even go after it. I scanned the rest, paid, and got out as fast as I could, my heart racing like I was already late.
Outside, the rain had slowed to a mist. It should’ve been a relief, but the parking lot felt too open—like a stage with too many eyes and no exits.
I didn’t see him at first. I thought maybe I lost him. I was halfway to my car when I heard it:
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Wet footsteps. Steady. Deliberate. Closing in.
That’s when I ran.
I fumbled with my keys, threw everything into the front seat, and locked the doors in one motion. I looked up.
There he was—ten feet from my car. Just standing there. Watching.
I stared at him, frozen, until he finally turned and walked back toward the entrance like nothing had happened.
I peeled out of the parking lot. My hands were shaking so badly I had to hold the wheel with both just to keep straight. I whipped into the ER parking lot and threw it into park.
Me: “I’m not going to Walmart alone for a while. Sometimes I really hate men. They scare me.”
Three dots appeared.
Sam: “I’m so sorry this happened. Is there anything I can do?”
Me: “No, I’m good. I just pulled into the lot. I’ll be in soon.”
Even hours later, after I’d settled into the rhythm of the ER—alarms, call lights, controlled chaos—I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Not completely.
But knowing Sam cared, that someone had responded right away and taken me seriously... it helped. It made the world feel just a little less dangerous.
A little less lonely.
Still, in the back of my mind, the memory stayed.
That man.
Those footsteps.
And the quiet, lingering thought—
what if he hadn’t turned around?
About the Creator
Mae
Consistently being inconsistent. Multiple genres? You bet. My little brain never writes the same way. Most of these start out in the notes app on my phone...
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By Lana V Lynx5 days ago in FYI
Comments (1)
This was beautifully written and sent chills up my spine. What you've described here is probably the very beginning stages of stalking. It does take just one person to believe us when we say something isn't right. I'm someone who has experienced the kind of stalking that I call "Fatal Attraction" on steroids--not just following me around, but intruding into my life and even my body. But what do we do when all of the systems that are supposed to help us, to keep us safe in circumstances like this, fail us? This is a conversation that we need to have because the system fails to protect us more than people probably realize. I'm currently sharing a series based on my experience of the system failing me. I'd love to hear your input!