Short thrillers ‖ surveillance

I bought a new house in the town. The house was cheap, but most importantly I wanted to get away from the city.

A few months ago, I had a conflict with a man. Although I called the police, I always had all kinds of feelings of being stared at. I felt eyes everywhere, whether at home or on the street, so I decided to move to a place with fewer people in the country, just for peace of mind.

The house itself is big and a bit old, but other than that it's all nice. The agent who introduced the house mentioned to me that this was once a serial killer, which is why the house is so cheap. But he and my next-door neighbor, Mary, both told me not to mind.

The other four owners who live in this building, they are all very happy with this. I loved the house, its interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable.

The people are friendly and they often bring fresh pastries or invite me over for a drink.

"We get together a lot," they say, "and that's the key reason everybody loves this." ”

However, after a week, I no longer liked "it". The feeling of someone staring at me was back, more serious than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing sleep. I grew heavy bags of eyes, and I yawned almost as often as I breathed.

The kind Mary asked me to stay at her house for a few nights. It was during this time that I heard the legend of Carter, a serial killer who had lived in my house.

While no one knows exactly how many people he's killed, Carter, nicknamed Peacock, is an extremely narcissistic person. He liked to be noticeable, and legend has it that if he felt that no one was looking at him he would be able to sleep.

He was eventually arrested for placing a scarecrow to watch him at night. Just because it's not just a scarecrow. Carter killed a girl so that she could look at him all the time.

This story sent shivers down my spine, and when I got home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes watching me no matter how I turned around.

Today, the first day I found my new job, I was making breakfast. Suddenly I felt someone watching me from behind, and out of fear, I instinctively threw the kitchen knife back and cut it into the wall.

When I took it out, I found myself staring into a pair of eyes pickled by formaldehyde.

For hours, I had been watching the police peel off the plasterboard of the house. So far, they've found 142 pairs of eyes in small glass jars in the wall.

The scariest thing is that every eye is staring at me.