Part 2

  [LOG BEGINS]

  Scene II

  I went back to the police academy.

  I was still officially on leave.

  They said I wasn’t “stable” enough yet.

  But I needed to be somewhere structured. Controlled. Guarded.

  If he was human, he wouldn’t get inside.

  Right?

  I found my manager in her office and asked if I could return early.

  She looked at me for a long time.

  “You’re not cleared.”

  “I’m better,” I said too quickly.

  She didn’t believe me.

  We stepped into the hallway, walking toward the stairwell as we talked.

  She asked why I was so desperate.

  And I told her.

  “There’s someone following me.”

  Her expression shifted.

  “There’s security here. No one gets in without clearance.”

  “He’s here,” I said.

  Right now.

  She didn’t like that answer.

  I tried to explain that I wasn’t even sure he was human.

  That’s when she gave me that look.

  The careful one.

  The one reserved for unstable cadets.

  All the while-

  He was calling my name.

  Soft.

  Patient.

  I ignored him.

  We were halfway down the stairs when something cut through the air.

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  A plastic bottle.

  It flew past our heads and clattered violently against the wall below.

  We both froze.

  She looked down first.

  And then she saw him.

  Standing at the bottom of the stairwell.

  Perfectly still.

  Too tall for the space.

  The mask stretched tight over his face.

  Watching me.

  Not her.

  Me.

  She didn’t speak for a long moment.

  Then quietly:

  “You can come back.”

  “But you won’t be on active duty. You’ll assist. Paperwork. Admin.”

  I agreed immediately.

  If I stayed inside-

  If I stayed busy-

  Maybe he would stop.

  He didn’t.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  While I worked at the academy, he never stopped.

  He called my name constantly.

  Soft.

  Persistent.

  I learned not to react.

  I stayed in crowded areas.

  Cafeteria. Hallways. Training floors.

  If I looked at him, he would be there.

  Standing at the edge of the room.

  Head tilted slightly.

  Hand raised.

  “Come.”

  His voice always sounded like he was smiling.

  But the mask had no mouth.

  No curve.

  No movement.

  Just two horizontal slits for eyes.

  And somehow I knew he was smiling.

  One afternoon, we were in the basement storage area, counting beds and supplies.

  Concrete walls. Low ceiling. Fluorescent lights buzzing.

  I ignored him again.

  That’s when the alarm went off.

  Loud. Violent. Red lights flashing.

  A breach.

  Before we could process it.

  Masked men with rifles stormed in.

  Black gear. Controlled movements.

  They shouted commands.

  Forced us to the ground.

  Hands behind heads.

  Gunshots echoed from upstairs.

  Screaming.

  More alarms.

  We were rounded up and herded into a line.

  Transferred to another room.

  Single file.

  Head down.

  That’s when he called my name again.

  But this time…

  He didn’t sound patient.

  He sounded angry.

  I looked up.

  He wasn’t half-hidden behind a pillar.

  He wasn’t peeking from a corner.

  He was standing in the middle of the hallway.

  Out in the open.

  Blocking the path.

  The mask looked tighter.

  The cloth pulled downward like something underneath it was forcing a frown.

  He wasn’t asking anymore.

  He was demanding.

  “Look at me.”

  I looked away quickly.

  Kept walking.

  Head down.

  We were placed in a different room.

  Metal-framed beds. Thin mattresses. A single bathroom attached.

  Concrete walls again.

  Cold.

  Each of us was told to pick a bed and sit.

  I chose the one in the corner. Closest to the bathroom door.

  Walls on two sides.

  Less exposed.

  The masked guard stayed near the door.

  Gun raised.

  Radio clipped to his vest.

  That’s when the radio crackled.

  Panicked voices.

  “Requesting backup….”

  Static.

  “He’s taking them down….”

  Another burst of gunfire in the distance.

  “Are you still alive? Respond!”

  Silence.

  Two of the guards in our room exchanged looks.

  They left to check.

  The door shut behind them.

  Minutes passed.

  Too many minutes.

  They didn’t come back.

  The last guard started pacing.

  Radio pressed to his ear.

  Nothing but static.

  Then…

  A knock.

  Three slow knocks.

  He froze.

  Then relaxed.

  “About time.”

  He opened the door.

  Gunshots.

  Sharp. Immediate.

  He dropped before he even understood what happened.

  Boots rushed in.

  Different uniforms.

  Our superiors.

  Rescue team.

  We were secured and escorted out.

  None of us were injured.

  But upstairs…

  Men were dead.

  The masked attackers were all eliminated.

  But not by bullets.

  That part spread in whispers.

  They were found…

  Broken.

  Bent in ways bodies shouldn’t bend.

  No gunshot wounds.

  The director tried contacting the other managers.

  No signal.

  Tech tried restoring the cameras.

  They were offline during the breach.

  All of them.

  Every single one.

  Like something didn’t want to be recorded.

  And I already knew.

  He wasn’t angry anymore.

  He was quiet.

  Satisfied.

  [LOG ENDS]

  Yeah.

  So apparently staying inside a secured police academy does not solve supernatural stalking.

  He wasn’t hiding anymore.

  And that’s what bothered me the most.

  He didn’t look like he was chasing me.

  He looked like he was watching everyone else.

  If you thought Scene I was unsettling, this is where it starts escalating.

  Scene III is worse.

  Much worse.