So, You've Met A Stalker

A Few Years Back

She smoothed her hair in the rearview mirror. Waved a hand over her face in short movements and snapped the compact shut, and got out of the candy red sports car. Not bothering to smooth the shirt over her shorts as she walked confidently to the convenience store on the corner. The woman didn't notice a few faces peering out from the windows. This was the hood. In Canada that meant "the wrong side of town." Whatever that was supposed to mean it was an older area of town, really, a pretty quiet area. The occasional commotion, person running and a siren but mostly elderly. She was there temporarily, this she could afford when going back to post grad. But... who is that, parking an expensive sports car on the side of the street, Marilyn Monroe?

Walking back from the store about ten minutes later, she couldn't resist a sideways glance, carefully, without moving her head, at the two-story house she had parked in front of. As she got in the car she noticed the No Parking sign next to where she had parked, or what once was a No Parking sign. Someone had ripped the actual sign off so there stood only a naked pole. Then she matter-of-factly pulled out her cell phone and entered something into it. She turned and looked directly at the house's picture window and glared. Then she drove off.

Like some intuitive counter move, Caeil (pronounced Syla, I as in eye) set the cleaning rag on the table and glided back to the picture window. Singing along to the song on the radio, she parted the curtain to see a tiny blonde step into a bright red car and stare at a phone in her hand. Caeli blinked. The car sped away.

Who was that? Was that memory tugging at her?

Intuition flutters in moments like these, and immediately her mind calculated. She had been having wifi problems, and it suddenly occurred that anyone could log into her wifi if they had the password. How, though would they get a password?

Caeli watched a neighbor walk across the street. He was staring in the direction of the car that had just pulled out. He punched something into his phone as the red car sped away. Who was that, was written all over his face. Wrong end of town for her. A convenience store or not, who goes there unless they live on the street? Why did she park there and not in front of the store or the parking lot?

A few hours later, Caeli carefully locked the deadbolt behind her and walked to the store. It was less than a hundred feet. There was a house next door and a short parking lot between it and the store. All psychic awareness on alert.

Each step she took in excruciating pain. Her toes on constant crush, her entire feet worn to the bone, arthritis setting in? She could walk and do everything like normal barefoot or socked feet inside the house. In shoes, however, it was pain all the way. Sometimes she was shocked at how pain was like the roots searing up stems of nerves, straight up to her knee caps. Moments like those, she would stand still and bear it until it went away. God, I am only in my 40's, what is it?! So she walked carefully and slowly. (In the future the pain would go away just as mysteriously as it had set in, later, after she moved). She went to the store almost every day, even if it was to spend only a toonie. There was no grocery store at this end of town, and this corner store had everything a grocer would.

She looked over her shoulder. She looked in front of her. There was no sign of life on the one-way street that ran the length of the town. The sun blazed down in all its glory. God, she loved summer. She quickly returned to the house; it was one of the hottest heatwaves ever.

The next day she fought with computer problems all morning. Passwords were changing. Internet intermittently shutting off. Exasperated, she stopped her work temporarily. After usual housework, she decided to meditate in the sun like she used to do. It was her favorite thing to do. Donning her old bikini, she sat on her bamboo mat in the yard, face to the sun welcomed the purple light of her eyelids. Then she reclined, repeated her mantra, and drifted into that wondrous feeling that only meditation could bring.

An hour later, she went in the back door to throw some shorts and a shirt on and go to the store. She had left a twenty-dollar bill on the kitchen counter waiting for her. Thirsty and looking forward to an orange pop she searched everywhere and couldn't find it. How does a twenty go missing? That was all she had. So she sat down. No store today. Both doors were locked while she was sunning. She always locked the doors.

She remembered. Memory, like a fine-tuned chord, resonated with the moment. Strangely reminiscent of something previous. Not afraid but befuddled.

Ten Years Before

Caeli's cottage was the only home she ever owned. By the lake, it was on the other side of town, half an hour away. Another universe away.

She woke in the morning and puttered to the kitchen. Let the dogs out, put the coffee on, and went to sit at the table, toast in hand. A glint of shine as she pulled out the chair tucked under the table. She reached for it and saw it was a key. A key? From where? She ate her toast and stared at it.

Feeling like a detective, she walked to the front door and tried the key. Though she knew it wasn't a spare one, she thought she should check it. The bigger question was, why was it sitting on the kitchen chair? She then tried it in the back door, no it didn't fit there either.

She thought hard; she thought quickly, the tumblers of her mind clicking. No one had been over to visit in a week at least. She sat on the same chair every day. She had the toolbox out the day before when she had fixed the back of a picture. It was leaning crookedly on the wall like it was going to slip off. Maybe it fell out of the toolbox though she didn't remember ever having a key in there. The toolbox was more of a kid's fishing box, a small thing. It contained a wrench, a screwdriver, some nails, and doodads. The pliers went missing long ago.

Larry was gone to heaven now. She had to do everything herself. She blinked hard, no tears today. At least not yet. Like a strange entity, the toolbox sat waiting to be explored, but she knew the answer before she opened the lid. Chewing her lip she picked up the old lock that used to be on the front door. Knowing it wouldn't fit, she tried the key half hoping it would explain its presence on the chair that morning. Nope. Still a mystery.

She called her friend on her cell phone. "Do you feel like taking the dogs for a walk?" Her old friend from college days had moved around the corner years later, a friend whom she trusted. They sometimes walked the dogs together. "I have something to show you, I found a key," Caeli said.

Karen (not her real name) looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean, am I sure? Of course, I'm sure. I pulled out the chair and it was just sitting there."

Karen continued, "did you do laundry, could it have fallen out of a pocket, maybe you threw your bag on the table and it fell out? It must've come from somewhere."

Exasperated, but you could hardly tell, Caeli replied, "that's what I'm telling you. No, I didn't do laundry yesterday and why would I keep a key around that doesn't fit anything? It doesn't make sense. I am going to put the key here on the kitchen counter in front of the coffee pot." They stared at each other and didn't say anything. After a pause, "let's take, the dogs."

There was still snow on the ground. The dogs enjoyed the romp and walked happily along, enjoying the brisk air. Caeli drew on her inhaler; she hated the cold. Not as composed now she was starting to freak out thinking of the possibilities. So, they talked about anything to change the conversation. Taking the long route, they circled back and got to Karen's door, and Caeli, cheery now, said, "see ya later," and continued walking up and around the corner to her street. Feeling much better after the walk. She had always had this innate sense that things would explain themselves naturally in time. They always did. Life wasn't supposed to be filled with mysteries, but sometimes little things happened that eventually worked themselves out.

She walked into the house and kicked off her boots. Caeli used to be a power walker. She walked every day for at least an hour and was in top shape. Tea time, she went to grab the dogs a treat and put the kettle on. She stared and froze. If life could come to a complete pause, it was then.

She picked up her cell phone and called Karen, "the key is gone. It's gone," her voice began to rise and get very loud. "Remember I left it on the counter, it's not here!" There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Karen carefully replied as if she was spelling out letters, "Someone maybe knows when you are coming and going. Don't panic but keep your doors locked. Something is definitely going on." That was the only and best advice Caeli was left with.

Alright then. Little survivor, keep going.

So, Caeli checked the door for the second time that day, knowing it was locked. She imagined a conversation, "well Mr. Officer, no I have no idea where a key could have come from. It was there then it was gone." She imagined he would reply with a blank stare because she didn't know what an officer would think. She imagined more, "do you think someone broke in?" he would ask. Well, no, she thought. "So how do you think a key you don't own got in here?" Er, um, from an imaginary pocket? "So, what exactly are you calling us about? Finding a key is not a crime." That would be the officer's reply, and then she would look like an idiot. That's as far as her imagination would go with it.

So she stood up, walked out the door, locked it behind her, and went to one of the neighbor's doors and knocked. "Excuse, me, I hope I am not bothering you but I was wondering if you could do me a favor." "Of course, what can I help ya with?" "I keep missing some old friends of mine at the door. Their phone isn't working but left me a note that they had stopped by to visit. Do you mind keeping an eye on the place when I am not home and letting me know if they stop by? Or better yet, give me a call, here is my number. Hope that is no trouble," Caeli asked, a smile plastered on her face. "Absolutely, no problem," another plastered smile answered back.

Caeli decided to draw the rest of the afternoon and forget about things she could not imagine an answer for back in the house. She turned on the music and sang as she did her artwork. No psychic dreams that night, no, none. Like a blank page.

After The Cottage In The Grove

The house on Harkness awaited. Silent and welcoming a second home after she had lost the cottage. No hood here that came later. It was the old family home, just neighbors she didn't know.

She had already been there a couple of years. Life was moving along slowly. Her days were spent in meditation, writing, and walking. There was a recession and no work anywhere.

Windows of time, windows sublime. A perfect place for reasoning is staring out a window, to admire what nature offers in the change in seasons. So that's where she sat to write after her hours of meditation. On a short stool in front of a long window. She cradled thoughts in her mind; her cat of 21 years, Lacy, had died of old age. She had brought her to the veterinarian and was pretty much traumatized afterward. A few weeks later, though still not accepting it, she was much calmer.

Caeli noticed a woman; first, she thought she was a teenager. Petite with blond hair. She was looking straight ahead as she walked past the house. For some reason, this struck Caeli as odd. It’s a short street. There are only nine houses on each side of the road, not counting the corner houses. Again, her memory tugged at her. It is very rare in this pretty private neighborhood to see a stranger walking around. She let the thought pass.

This story is part of a short series that are excerpts to my Small Tales and Visits to Heaven book that is currently being revised. The main character is me, I chose not to write it in the first person simply because I thought it reads better as a story that way. The story later includes psychic readings and it is very difficult to write yourself in the presence of a reading. The accounts in the story are true and to the best of my recollection.

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