Page 4 of Theirs to Chase

Someday, he will have to pay. That’s just the circle of life.

Since that night, that sensation of being watched has stuck with me, as if I’m under constant scrutiny. It wasn’t just the accident that changed things—something else started that night, a presence I can’t shake. Someone is always watching. The same feeling wraps around me now as I try to outwalk the feeling, but it’s futile.

The pumpkin field looms in the distance—the only reason I’m even here is because my mother loved Halloween, especially carving pumpkins. We always went to this cottage together, once full of life, but now stands in eerie tranquility. It has weathered and worn with age and the passage of time.

Couples gather at the front lawn to pick their pumpkins for the year. With a subtle wave toward the always-silent man in the chair by the door, I make my way to the back of the cottage. This is where the best pumpkins are hidden, as the older man had once told me.

Dawn is on the horizon, leaving a crisp chill in the air. The trees rustle with the breeze, but I pay them no mind. There is something in the air on this cold day that makes me uneasy, and suddenly that prickling sensation returns, making the hair on my arms stand on end, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. It’s him—I know it.

He’s been watching for years now, never close enough to see clearly, but always there, waiting. His presence is enough to make something coil deep inside me—a curiosity to know whohe is.

The thrill of being watched,wanted, claws at me, even when I know it shouldn’t.

I ignore it, continuing my search for a pumpkin. It takes some time, but I finally find the one with the most vibrant orange color, the largest of them all. A branch snaps behind me, and I whirl around, tightly clutching the pumpkin in my hands. All I want now is to return home, carving this pumpkin in memory of my mother with a glass of red wine in hand. With this thought in mind, I head back toward the cottage.

But when I look around, I realize I’m farther away than I thought. With each step, it seems the cottage only recedes farther. I swallow hard, picking up my pace, when the enigmatic presence I felt lurking in the shadows finally takes shape. My mouth falls open, paralyzed, as I stare at the man in the shadows, not able to avert my gaze from his imposing figure.

He takes a step closer, a long coat draping over his body, and despite that, I can still discern the definition of his muscular frame. My gaze shifts to his face, obscured by shadows, yet his green eyes seem to pierce through me. A masculine five-o’clock shadow graces his chin, visible in the moonlight, andfucking swoon, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to have that stubble brushing against my clit.

A rush of exhilaration surges through me, tangled with the sharp edge of terror. I knew this time would eventually come. Though paranoia coils in me, there’s a dark and twisted sense of thrill rising alongside it.

I look around again, noticing that the cottage has vanished entirely. Icy fingers reach out to me, poised to tear me apart. I take a step back, but the shadow only comes closer. Did I venture too far?

Out of nowhere, the surroundings plunge into complete darkness, and my only source of guidance in the starless nightsky is the moon hanging low overhead. The tranquility I felt just moments ago evaporates as if blown away by the wind.

Am I losing my mind?

Fear poisons my veins with its eerie presence, because I can no longer see the man, but I can hear his footsteps coming closer. Each step is like a countdown to my end, and the unsettling feeling washes over me as I start running, but I don’t know where I’m going.

It’s a desperate attempt to flee him, leaves crunching under my feet as I approach a place I’ve never been to before—the cornfield.

My breathing escalates as the tall corn stalks loom above me like sentinels, and somehow, as I step deeper into the cornfield, the sounds around me become muffled, as if the outside world has fully disappeared.

The towering rows of corn become an unnerving labyrinth of shadows and half-seen shapes—a maze I’m not sure I’ll escape.

There is nowhere to hide, the leaves themselves conspire to conceal my presence, and each thud of my feet is audible against the soft soil. I know he can hear me, trailing behind in the darkness, and I hate that he’s pursuing me. His presence feels closer, almost suffocating—knowingthat he’s right behind me, yet I dare not turn around.

“Little pumpkin,” the man calls out, his voice husky and dark, with an alluring tone that wraps around me like a shroud.

It sends shivers down my spine, tendrils of unwanted desire reaching into a sensitive part of me.

I run without a goal in sight, knowing that he’s been hunting me for the past five minutes, and soon, there’ll be nowhere else to go.

“Little pumpkin,” he calls out again, much closer than before.

It isn’t long until I stumble on a root in the ground, falling forward with the breath caught in my throat, the pumpkinslipping from my grip.

I immediately sit up, pain spreading through me as my knees scrub against the gravelly ground. In an instant, he is upon me, roughly pushing me down so I’m lying on my back.

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” he whispers, his words carried away by the breeze.

My eyes meet his, compelled to see who the incredibly attractive yet menacing man is. I want to look into his piercing green eyes once more because I’m a fucking masochist, craving the pain of the unknown. Except I can no longer see his green eyes, his face is now covered by a mask that gleams under the glowing moonlight.

It’s an uncanny mask shrouding his face, taking the shape of a contorted and carved pumpkin with a sinister grin etched across its surface.

He bends down, gripping hold of my neck as he stands above me with one leg on each side of my stomach. The breath gets lost in me, yet the way I imagine he is staring at me is unimaginably hot. With the other hand, he removes his long coat, exposing his veiny neck and inked arms before losing the grip around my throat to remove the coat entirely. My mouth salivates at the thought of him, and I can’t comprehend how the fuck he isn’t cold right now. Or why I’m not terrified anymore. There’s something wrong with me, something twisted and deranged—incurable.

The thought of not knowing who hides behind the mask is thrilling. His thumb softly swipes across my jaw, inspecting every inch of my face, and I can physically feel his body heat enveloping me. Like a cocoon of danger yet safety. His finger trails down to the curve of my collarbone, making my skin burn underneath his touch, until it reaches right above my heart. The hardthumpof the organ feels like it’s screaming into a void, his eyes still roving over me.

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