The Watcher Within

My muse Rainey moves into our new home, but the Watcher inside her stalks us.

Rainey Molson stood on the porch of her new home, a small house at the end of a quiet suburban street. The sun sank low, casting long shadows across the lawn. The house looked cozy—white picket fence, wildflowers spilling over the garden, a creaky wooden porch. But a chill crawled up her spine. The shadows stretched too far, and the air smelled faintly of decay.

She shook her head. “Just my imagination,” she whispered, stepping inside. Her long, wavy red hair caught the fading light. She wore a flowing, pale grayish-green gown that shimmered faintly, making her feel like a character from her own stories. Rainey was a writer, here for a fresh start to finish her novel. The house smelled of dust and old wood. It was hers now, creaky floors and all.

She set up her desk by the window. The neighborhood was still—too still. Rainey glanced outside and froze. A shadowy figure stood in the yard, staring up at her. Its face was a blur, hidden in darkness. She blinked, and it vanished. Her heart thudded. She locked the window, fingers trembling.

The next morning, Rainey found muddy footprints circling the house. They stopped under her window, deep and fresh. She called the police, but they shrugged. “Kids, probably,” the officer said. No break-ins, no suspects. Rainey stared at the prints, her stomach twisting.

Days passed, and the unease grew. Whispers echoed at night—soft, like breath on her neck. In the bathroom mirror, she glimpsed a face that wasn’t hers—pale, with hollow eyes. She spun around, but the room was empty.

One night, after a shower, Rainey stood in the steamy bathroom, toweling off her red hair. The mirror fogged up. She felt eyes on her, heavy and cold. She wiped the glass—nothing. Just her own wide eyes staring back. But the air turned icy, and the lights flickered.

Then the strange things started. Rainey woke with dirt on her bare feet, though she hadn’t left the house. Her phone’s camera roll had photos she didn’t take—dark shots of her neighbors’ windows, their curtains glowing faintly. She scrolled through them, hands shaking.

Another night, she found a note under her door. “I see you,” it said, scrawled in her own handwriting. Rainey crumpled it, her breath hitching.
Desperate, she set up cameras around the house. That night, she sat at her desk, watching the footage. Her blood turned to ice. There she was, sleepwalking through the dark, her gown trailing behind her. Her eyes were blank, unseeing. She stood outside her neighbors’ houses, staring through their windows. In one clip, she leaned close to the camera and whispered, “I’m always watching.”

Rainey dropped the laptop. She wasn’t being watched—she was the watcher. But it wasn’t her. Something else was moving her body.
She tore through the house, searching for answers. In the attic, she found a dusty journal under the floorboards. It belonged to Eliza Crane, the house’s last owner. The pages were frantic, filled with strange symbols. “I called it to protect me,” Eliza wrote. “The Watcher. It sees everything. But it won’t leave. It’s inside me now.”

A cold wind swept through the attic. Rainey looked at an old mirror against the wall. Her reflection stared back—but it wasn’t her. It was Eliza, gaunt and pale, with black holes for eyes. “You’re mine now,” the reflection hissed.

Rainey screamed and smashed the mirror with a chair. Glass shattered, but the voice echoed in her head. “You can’t run. I’m always watching.”

That night, Rainey woke up outside. She stood in her neighbor’s yard, barefoot, her gown damp with dew. A kitchen knife gleamed in her hand. She gasped and dropped it, the blade sinking into the grass. Her mind reeled.

“No,” she whispered. “This isn’t me.”

A laugh slithered through her thoughts. “But it is. You’re perfect—so alone, so afraid.”

Rainey ran back to her house, locking the door. But the whispers followed, louder now. She grabbed the journal, flipping through it. There was a ritual—salt, a personal item, words to trap the entity. She had to try. In the basement, she found an old locket with Eliza’s photo inside, yellowed and cracked. Rainey poured a circle of salt on the floor and stepped inside, clutching the locket. The air grew thick. She started the chant, her voice trembling.

A shadow rose from the corner, tall and twisted, with glowing eyes. “You think you can banish me?” it snarled. “I’ve watched this house for centuries. I am the Watcher.”

Rainey kept chanting. The entity lunged, claws scraping the salt circle. She flinched, but the barrier held. It shrieked, its form twisting like smoke. With the final word, Rainey slammed the locket shut. The shadow collapsed into it, and the room went still.
She clutched the locket, panting. It was over. She’d trapped it.

But a whisper brushed her ear. “I’ll always be watching. You’ll never be free.”

Rainey froze. The voice was faint, but it was there. She hadn’t destroyed the Watcher, only contained it. She stumbled outside and buried the locket in the garden, under the wildflowers. The night was quiet, but the shadows moved in the corners of her eyes. In the bathroom, she showered again, the hot water stinging her skin. But she couldn’t shake the feeling—eyes on her, always there.

Days later, Rainey tried to write again. The house was silent, but the mirrors flickered—a shape, just out of sight. She heard it sometimes: the tune of “Somebody’s Watching Me,” drifting through the walls.

Then it got worse. One night, the whispers turned to screams. Rainey jolted awake, her bedroom freezing. The locket sat on her nightstand—she hadn’t left it there. It pulsed with a sickly green light. She grabbed it, but it burned her hand, leaving a red welt.
The Watcher’s voice growled, “You thought you could hold me?”

Rainey ran to the kitchen, grabbing a hammer. She smashed the locket, but the metal wouldn’t break. The air turned thick, and the lights went out. A claw slashed across her arm, drawing blood. She screamed, dropping the hammer. The shadow loomed over her, its eyes blazing.

“You’re mine,” it hissed. “I’ll watch through your eyes forever.”

Rainey’s vision blurred. Her body jerked—she wasn’t in control. Her hands grabbed the knife from the counter. She fought, but her feet moved toward the neighbor’s house. Through the window, she saw Mr. Carter, an older man, watching TV. Her hand raised the knife.
“No!” Rainey shouted, her voice cracking. She bit her own arm, hard, the pain snapping her back. The knife clattered to the ground.
Mr. Carter turned, seeing her. “What are you doing?” he yelled, storming outside. He grabbed a bat, his face red with anger. “Get away from my house!”

Rainey stumbled back, her arm bleeding. “I’m sorry—I can’t stop it!” she cried.
He swung the bat, narrowly missing her head. Rainey ran, her gown catching on thorns as she fled into the woods behind the houses. The Watcher laughed in her mind, a wet, guttural sound.

She collapsed by a stream, her breath ragged. Her reflection in the water wasn’t hers—her eyes were black, her mouth twisted into a grin. “You can’t fight me,” the reflection said, her voice echoing inside her skull.

Rainey clawed at her face, trying to stop the vision. Her nails drew blood, but the Watcher’s grip tightened. Her body stood, moving deeper into the woods. She felt her thoughts slipping away, replaced by a cold hunger to watch, to stalk.

But Rainey fought. She remembered the salt circle, the chant. She had no locket now, but she had herself. She knelt in the dirt, drawing a circle with her finger. She chanted, her voice shaking, blood dripping from her arm.

The Watcher screamed, a sound like breaking glass. Rainey’s body convulsed, her back arching as the entity clawed its way out. Black smoke poured from her mouth, pooling in the circle. She slammed her hands down, trapping it in the dirt. The smoke vanished, leaving a burned patch of ground. Rainey collapsed, sobbing. She was free—maybe. She limped home, her arm throbbing. The house felt empty, but the mirrors still flickered.

The Watcher was gone, but its words lingered. “I’ll always be watching.”

Author's Notes ▼

Written for the https://www.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/2273172-Horror-Writing-Contest... 1379 words not counting titles, notes and image formating