Veronica drained the last of her drink and set the glass down on the table. She let the weight of it hit the wooden surface a little too hard, but she wanted to get his attention. She thought she saw a flicker around the edge of what should be his right arm, but it may have been a trick of the light streaming in from the window.

It was time to move this along.

The legs of the kitchen chair scraped the beige tiles as Veronica stood up. Her parents never changed the flooring, the distinct 80s patterns remained. The rusty carpet in the living room was the same from her childhood. For a moment, Veronica was lost in thought, remembering playing on those floors as a kid while her mom cooked or her dad watched a sitcom. She would be completely immersed in her game and then suddenly she’d feel eyes on her. It was always him, and he’d always dash away before she got a good look.

Not today, she thought to herself.

Mustering every bit of courage she could, Veronica strode toward the man who’d stalked her for years. Her heart pounded and a tiny trickle of sweat began under her arm, traveling briskly down her side.

“What do you want?” she called out. He didn’t move. “Answer me!”

The man kept flickering from black to grey as if the strength in her voice shook him. Veronica stood about ten feet away from his position, her eyes locked on what should be his face. The man turned, indicating that his back had been to her the whole time. But with no features, it was hard to detect what she had been looking at. Now it was clear and those white eyes were staring through her. The same eyes that caused her to scream as a child. Today, she wasn’t going to scream.

“This ends today.”

The figure took a tentative step forward. Veronica thought she heard a sound coming from his shadowy mouth. The exhale sounded as if any movement pained him. Veronica tried to keep calm and focus on her breathing as he took another step toward her. She didn’t want him to know how scared she was. She didn’t want him to have any power.

The space between them became smaller and smaller. The white eyes bore into her, making her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like a child all over again.

“Who are you?”

He shouldn’t have breath, but he did. The figure leaned in and Veronica felt an exhale on her skin. To her surprise it smelled sweet, not rancid, dusty or decaying. She was transported back to her mother making cupcakes for her birthday. She helped frost each one, even though her tiny hands didn’t have the dexterity. She remembered Joey Gatlin making fun of them because his mother always made the most perfect baked goods.

Veronica shook away the memory and forced herself to look into his white eyes. She wanted to see something, anything that would make her understand. What was he doing there and why her?

Her hands turned to ice and before she realized it, shadowy claws were gripping her wrists so tightly she was sure no blood flowed to her fingertips.