At first, it felt kind of sweet—like a small-town quirk straight out of a Hallmark movie. Officer Brandt rides his bike around the block in the mornings, handing out mail with a wave and a grin, then circles back in the afternoon in full uniform, writing tickets for expired tags or asking about stray dogs.
Everyone loves him. Especially the older neighbors. “He keeps us safe and on schedule,” Mrs. Delaney always jokes.
But then, last Tuesday, I got an envelope in my mailbox. No return address. Just my name, typed out—clean, precise. Inside was a single photograph.
It was me, standing at my front door.
Taken from across the street.
Nothing about it seemed particularly alarming at first. I just assumed it was some strange coincidence—maybe one of those old neighborhood photos people like to take for fun. But then I turned the photo over.
On the back, in neat handwriting, were four words: “I’m always watching you.”
A chill ran down my spine, and I felt a tightness in my chest that I couldn’t shake. The photo wasn’t exactly a close-up, but it was clear enough for me to recognize the moment. I had been standing on my front porch, chatting with my friend Lisa about some gardening tips, just an ordinary conversation on an ordinary morning. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary at the time, but now… the realization hit me: someone had been watching.
I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it some sort of joke? Maybe a prank? I tried to brush it off. I convinced myself that it was just a weird misunderstanding, maybe even something harmless. But deep down, a seed of unease had been planted, and the feeling grew as the days passed.
I tried to tell myself it was just a fluke. The following days came and went without incident, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I’d glance out the window and see Officer Brandt riding by, casually delivering mail. He waved each time, just as he always did. But this time, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking a little too intently. If his eyes lingered just a little too long when he passed by my house. Was he aware of what had happened? Was there something he wasn’t telling me?
The next week, I received another envelope. This time, it wasn’t a photograph, but a letter.
“Why don’t you come out and talk to me? I’ve been waiting.”
I held the letter in my hands for what felt like an eternity, trying to make sense of it. Who was this person? Why me? The thought of someone having been watching me, waiting for me, suddenly felt overwhelming.
I debated calling the police, but then I hesitated. After all, Officer Brandt was the one who had delivered the letter, and if it was him, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions too quickly. It wasn’t until I found myself staring out the window, watching him ride by again, that I began to feel a mounting sense of dread. He wasn’t just the friendly mailman; he was also a police officer. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he was involved in this in some way.
I finally called Lisa, desperate for some advice. She listened quietly as I explained everything, the strange photo, the unsettling letter, the gnawing suspicion that Officer Brandt might know more than he was letting on.
“I don’t know, maybe you’re just overthinking it,” she said, trying to reassure me. “But if you’re really feeling uncomfortable, maybe you should just ask him. Ask him if he knows anything about these letters or if he’s been seeing anything suspicious around the neighborhood.”
I wasn’t sure about confronting him directly, but I knew I couldn’t keep going on like this. So the next morning, I decided to do it.
I saw Officer Brandt again as he came around the block, riding his bike and tossing mail into mailboxes. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the awkward conversation that I knew was about to unfold.
“Officer Brandt!” I called out as he slowed to a stop in front of my house.
He looked up and gave his usual friendly smile. “Morning, Miss Jenkins! Everything alright?”
I tried to keep my voice steady, even though my heart was racing. “Actually, I… I was wondering if we could talk for a moment. It’s about some letters I’ve been receiving. You see, I’m not sure if they’re meant to be some sort of joke, but…”
His smile faltered for a brief second, just long enough for me to notice. Then he gave a reassuring nod. “Of course, Miss Jenkins. What kind of letters are you talking about?”
I hesitated for a moment, but then I pulled the letter out of my bag and handed it to him. He took it, his expression unreadable as he read through the few short lines of text. When he finished, he looked back at me, his face now tight with concern.
“Have you gotten any other letters like this?” he asked, his voice calm but a little more guarded than before.
I nodded. “I’ve received a couple. I don’t know what to think. I mean, I don’t recognize the handwriting, and there’s no return address. It’s just… unsettling.”
Officer Brandt handed the letter back to me, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’m going to need you to be careful. I’ll keep an eye on things around here, but it’s important that you don’t ignore it. If anything else comes up, let me know right away.”
I felt a wave of relief, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more going on. As he rode off, I couldn’t help but glance after him, wondering if the friendly mailman I had always trusted was hiding something. Something deeper. Something darker.
The next few days were quiet. No more letters arrived, and the mailman continued his daily rounds. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
