I was stalked by a creep for two straight weeks. He wore a black trench coat, haunting me like a ghost that refused to disappear. To protect myself, I set a trap in the underground parking garage, blasted him in the face with high-concentration pepper spray, and called the police. I thought the nightmare was over — until a woman moved in next door. She told me with red-rimmed eyes that the creep was actually her cheating husband. I believed her. We formed an alliance and installed a hidden camera in the hallway to catch his mistress. But when the footage came out, I was horrified to discover that the “mistress” in the video — the one acting strangely, talking to thin air — was me. And the man I’d been treating like a stalker, the one I’d hurt over and over again, looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and said, “Abby… I’m your husband…” The lights in the underground parking garage always flickered. Click. Click. Click. There was another sound beneath my footsteps. Soft. Heavy. Keeping a steady distance of about thirty feet behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know — the creep was back. This was the fifth time this month. He always wore a long black trench coat and a baseball cap pulled low, half his face swallowed by shadow. Every time I came home after a late shift, he’d appear like a ghost on the only path back to my apartment. I tightened my grip on the pepper spray in my pocket. My palm was slick with sweat. The elevator bay was just ahead. If I could make it inside and hit the close button, I’d be safe. I took a deep breath and broke into a run. The footsteps behind me sped up too. I practically threw myself into the elevator bay, jabbing the up button over and over. The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in, spun around, and reached for the close button. Just as the doors were about to shut, a large hand shoved through the gap. The sensors caught it. The doors bounced back open. The man in the black trench coat stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He lifted his head. Beneath the brim of his cap were a pair of eyes shot through with red. “Abby…” His voice was hoarse, edged with a desperation that made my skin crawl. He knew my name. My scalp went cold. Every ounce of fear I’d been holding back exploded into raw, instinctive rage. “Stay away from me, you freak!” I yanked out the pepper spray and drove my thumb down on the trigger, aiming straight at his face. A concentrated blast hit him dead-on. “Ahhh—” He let out a cry of pain, both hands flying to his eyes. He stumbled backward and slammed hard into the wall behind him. I hammered the close button. The doors finally shut, cutting off the sight of him writhing in the hallway. I pressed my back against the elevator wall, gasping, my whole body shaking. The moment I got home, I deadbolted the door and called 911. The police arrived quickly. Two young officers swept through the garage and came up empty. “Ma’am, we pulled the garage footage,” the taller one told me, “but that spot is a blind zone for the cameras. Don’t worry though — we’ll increase patrols in the area. If you see him again, call us right away.” I nodded, but the unease didn’t leave me. The way that man had looked at me was strange. Not leering. Not predatory. It was something else entirely — complicated, pained, almost desperate. Like he was suffering. I wasn’t buying it. A creep is a creep. I poured myself a cup of hot tea and forced myself to breathe. Then the doorbell rang. I flinched so hard I nearly dropped the mug. Through the peephole, I saw a woman standing in the hallway.
She was wearing a wine-red silk slip dress with a thin cashmere cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her long, wavy hair fell loosely around her face. Beautiful. And exhausted. I hesitated, then cracked the door open — just enough, the chain still on. “Hi. I just moved in next door.” The woman gave me a strained smile. Her eyes were red. “I’m Zoe.” “Can I help you?” I kept my guard up. “I… could I come in for a minute?” Zoe bit her lip. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know who else to turn to. I’m scared.” Something in me softened at the sight of her. We were both women. Both living alone in a city that didn’t care. Everyone falls apart sometimes. I unlatched the chain and let her in. Zoe sank onto the couch, cradling the mug of hot tea I handed her, her body still trembling faintly. “What happened?” I passed her a few tissues. Zoe wiped her eyes and looked up at me, her gaze full of desperation. “Abby, women need to stick together — can you help me out?” I blinked. “Help you with what?” “Help me catch my husband’s mistress.” I nearly choked on my own saliva. In the middle of the night, she’d come to her neighbor’s door for this? “Your husband… is cheating on you?” I asked carefully. Zoe nodded, and the tears started falling again. “He’s been coming home really late lately, and he smells like another woman’s perfume. And I found out he’s been secretly following someone.” “Following someone?” I latched onto that word immediately, and a wave of unease washed over me. “Yeah. He was wearing a black trench coat and a baseball cap…” My head started buzzing. Black trench coat? Baseball cap? Following someone? “Your husband — is he really tall? Around six foot one or so?” I asked urgently. Zoe stared at me. “How did you know?” That confirmed it. The creep I’d pepper-sprayed in the parking garage was my next-door neighbor’s husband. I was so angry I could grind my teeth. No wonder he knew my name — he must have checked the building’s resident registry, or overheard it somewhere. He had a gorgeous wife right next door, and instead he was out there stalking me. What an absolute creep and a scumbag, through and through. Fueled by shared outrage, I immediately told Zoe everything that had happened in the parking garage. “What? You pepper-sprayed him?” Zoe’s eyes went wide — and then, to my surprise, a look of deep satisfaction crossed her face. “Good. Serves him right. Men like that need to be taught a lesson.” Just like that, we were on the same side. Zoe sipped her water and glanced around my apartment. “You live alone?” I nodded. “Yeah, just moved in not too long ago.” Her gaze drifted to the front door. She frowned slightly, like something was turning over in her mind. “Abby,” she said, turning to look at me with a new resolve in her eyes, “I want solid evidence before I take him for everything he’s got. Would it be okay if I… installed a hidden camera outside your door?” I froze. “If I put it outside my door, he’ll get suspicious. But if it’s on your side, it’ll catch the blind spot in the hallway — he’d never think to look there.” Zoe took my hand, her voice soft and earnest. “Please, Abby. I’m begging you.” Looking at her red, swollen eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. And honestly — if it could capture evidence of that creep’s behavior, it would protect me too. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
The next day was the weekend, and Zoe wasted no time. She came back with a tiny camera disguised as a small motion-sensor night light and mounted it on the wall just outside my door. The lens pointed straight down the hallway toward the elevator — the only way in — and it had a clear view of her front door too. “Done!” Zoe dusted off her hands, a gleam of revenge flickering in her eyes. “If he ever dares bring that woman back here, or comes near you again, I’ll make sure he regrets every second of it.” The next few days were surprisingly quiet. The man in the black trench coat didn’t show up again. Every evening when I got home from work, I’d glance at the little night light on the wall out of habit, and it made me feel just a little bit safer. Zoe started coming over a lot too. We’d order takeout together, vent about our insufferable bosses, and go on long rants about terrible men in general. I was amazed by how well we clicked. We both loved extra-cheese pizza, we were both allergic to mango, and we even had the exact same taste in movies — we were both obsessed with twisty, mind-bending psychological thrillers. “Abby, I feel like we’re long-lost sisters,” Zoe said one evening, a little tipsy on red wine, sinking back into the couch with a dreamy look on her face. I smiled. “Yeah. Me too.” In a city where I barely knew anyone, finding a friend who just got me — that felt like real luck. But the quiet didn’t last. On the fifth night, I worked late and didn’t get home until ten. The moment I stepped off the elevator, something felt off about the hallway. It was too still. Even the faint sound of a TV from next door — something I’d gotten used to hearing — was gone. I slowed my steps and tightened my grip on the pepper spray in my bag. As I reached my door, I glanced instinctively at Zoe’s place. No light coming from under the door. Was she out? Already asleep? I pulled out my keys — and then I heard it. A sound. Coming from inside my apartment. A soft rustling. Like someone moving things around. Every drop of blood in my body went cold. Someone was in there. The first face that flashed through my mind was his — the creep in the black trench coat. How did he get in? Does he have a key to my apartment? I didn’t rush to open the door. Instead, I tiptoed back to the elevator lobby and dialed 911. “Hello? I think someone broke into my apartment. Yes, I’m outside right now. I’m too scared to go in…” I hung up and stood there, eyes locked on my front door, heart hammering in my chest. About ten minutes later, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Two officers stepped out — the same two from last time. “Madam, what’s going on?” the tall one asked. “I heard noises coming from inside. Someone’s in there, I know it!” I pointed at the door, my voice shaking. The officers exchanged a glance and motioned for me to step aside. The tall officer drew his baton and approached the door carefully, reaching out to try the handle. It wasn’t locked. My stomach dropped. I was sure I’d deadbolted it when I left this morning. I was absolutely sure. The officer shoved the door open and rushed in. “Police! Don’t move!” I followed behind them, peering in from the doorway. The living room was empty. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom — they swept every corner. Nothing. “Madam, are you certain you heard something?” The tall officer put his baton away and looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Yes, I’m certain! There was definitely a sound!” I was getting frantic. I pointed at the coffee table, which was clearly out of order. “Look — it wasn’t like this when I left. Someone moved these magazines.” The officers walked over to check, then examined the windows. “Windows are locked from the inside. No sign of forced entry on the door either.” The tall officer let out a slow breath. “Madam, have you been under a lot of stress lately? Sometimes when people are exhausted, they—” “No. I heard it. I know what I heard.” There was nothing I could say to make them believe me. After they left, I sat alone on the couch, staring at the empty apartment, a cold unease creeping under my skin. Someone had been in here. I was sure of it. The air still carried a faint trace of cigarette smoke — and something else. Something sharp and clean that I couldn’t quite name. It was him. That creep. It had to be. Then it hit me — the security camera outside my door. Of course. The camera must have caught something. I grabbed my phone and called Zoe. “Sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable…” What? Why was her phone off? I went next door and knocked hard. No answer. A wave of unease washed over me, deep and unsettling.
That night, I left every light in the apartment on and sat on the couch until morning. I showed up to work the next day with dark circles under both eyes. I couldn’t focus on anything. My mind kept drifting back to the night before. The moment the workday finally ended, I rushed home and went straight to Zoe’s door. It opened. Zoe was wearing an oversized white button-down, her hair messy, her face drained of all color. “Zoe, what happened? Where were you last night?” I grabbed her hand — it was ice cold. “Abby…” The moment she saw me, her eyes filled with tears. “He came back. That bastard came back last night.” My chest tightened. “Did he hurt you?” Zoe shook her head, her jaw clenched. “No. He just came to get his things. He wants a divorce — and he wants me to walk away with nothing.” “Are you serious?!” I was furious. “He’s the one who cheated. He’s the one who’s been stalking someone. And he has the nerve to kick you out with nothing?” “That’s exactly why we need proof.” Zoe grabbed my hand, her eyes burning with intensity. “Abby — the camera. Whatever happened last night, the camera caught it.” Right. The camera. I pulled her into my apartment and locked the door behind us. Zoe took out her phone, pulled up the app connected to the hidden camera, and scrolled back to last night’s footage. We sat side by side on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. The image was sharp and clear. The hallway was empty, the motion-sensor light flickering on and off every now and then. Time ticked by, second by second. We dragged the progress bar to 9:30 PM. Then a figure appeared in the frame. My heart leapt into my throat. But when the figure stepped fully into view, I froze. It wasn’t the man in the black trench coat. It was a woman. Wearing the same beige coat I’d had on yesterday. Carrying my bag. It was me. The woman on screen didn’t do what I remembered. She didn’t stop at the door, hear a noise, back away, and call the police. She walked straight to my door, pulled out her keys, unlocked it, and went inside. Then the door closed. No hesitation. No panic. No retreat to the elevator lobby. I stared at the screen, my mind completely blank. “What… what is this?” I stammered. “I could have sworn I…” “You could have sworn what?” Zoe turned to look at me, her expression cold. The look in her eyes sent a chill straight through me. I stared at her now — not with that pitiful, helpless look she’d worn before. This was different. This was scrutiny. Cold, mocking scrutiny. “I heard something inside, so I didn’t go in — I stepped back and called the police!” I said desperately. “The cops came! They actually showed up!” “The police?” Zoe let out a cold laugh. “Abby, look at the footage carefully. Did any cops show up last night?” I snatched the phone out of her hand and frantically dragged the progress bar forward. 9:40. 10:00. 11:00… The hallway was empty. No police. No one had come at all. According to the security footage, I walked through the door at 9:30 — and never came back out. “That’s impossible… this is absolutely impossible!” I threw the phone onto the couch and grabbed my head with both hands. “I called the police. I talked to them. The footage is fake. Someone tampered with it!” “Abby, calm down.” Zoe’s voice dropped suddenly, soft and drifting, like it was floating. “The footage wasn’t tampered with. It’s you… you’re not well.” “I’m perfectly fine!” I shot to my feet and pointed straight at her. “It’s you! You did this, didn’t you? You and that psycho husband of yours cooked this whole thing up to mess with me!” Zoe looked at me, and something flickered in her eyes — a flash of sadness. “Abby, really look at me.” She stood up and moved toward me, one slow step at a time. “Don’t you think… we look alike?” I froze. I stared hard at Zoe’s face. Before, I’d just thought we clicked — that we had some natural chemistry. But now, looking closely… Her brows. Her nose. That tiny mole on her chin. Aside from the heavy makeup and the way she carried herself — more mature, more striking — her features were identical to mine. Every single one. “Who… who are you?” I backed away, step by step, until my back hit the cold wall behind me. “Who am I?” Zoe smiled — and tears spilled down her face. “Abby, I’m the coward inside you. The part of you that’s too scared to face the truth.” “You’re out of your mind!” I pressed my hands over my ears and shook my head frantically. “Am I? Then tell me — why are we both allergic to mango? Why do we both always order extra cheese? And why is there a wine-red silk slip in your closet that’s exactly like mine?” Each word Zoe spoke hit like a blade driving straight through my skull. And then I remembered. That wine-red silk slip — I’d bought it last month. Never worn it, because I thought it was too revealing. But the night Zoe first knocked on my door, that was exactly what she had on. “You lied to me… you lied to me!” I screamed, completely falling apart. “I’m calling the police! I’m going to find that officer from last night!” I fumbled with my phone, frantically scrolling through last night’s call history. Nothing. There was no record of calling 911. Not a single one. Just one outgoing call to an unsaved number I didn’t recognize. Duration: two minutes. I stared at the digits on the screen — and felt a strange, unsettling sense of familiarity wash over me. “Go ahead.” Zoe stood over me, looking down. “Call it. See who picks up.” My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. I pressed dial and switched it to speaker. Ring… ring… Two rings. Then someone answered. “Hello?” A low, hoarse voice came through — heavy with exhaustion. It was him. The man I’d pepper-sprayed by the elevator. “Who… who are you?” I heard my own voice trembling. Silence on the other end. It stretched so long I thought he’d hung up. Then the voice came back — cracked, broken, like something inside him was shattering. “Abby, have you forgotten me again?” he said. “It’s Eric. I’m your husband.”
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