The first note appeared on Mia’s windshield at 7:13 PM.
“Red suits you.”
No name. No signature. Just neat handwriting on a torn piece of ruled paper.
She looked around the dimly lit parking structure. Sixth floor, same as always. Empty, except for her hatchback and a dark SUV parked three spaces away.
She shrugged it off, smiling. A weird compliment. Maybe some awkward admirer.
But the next night, there was another note.
“You should smile more. I liked it when you did this morning.”
This time, she didn’t smile. She ran to her car and locked the doors before starting the engine.
Mia reported it to the building security the following morning, but they just noted it in their log and promised “extra patrols.”
By the fourth night, the notes had changed.
“I saw what you did at 9:03 PM. Naughty girl.”
She hadn’t left the office until 9. Only one other person had stayed late, James from HR, but he left an hour before her.
She requested a new parking spot. They moved her to the third floor. The notes followed.
Then her apartment door was slightly ajar when she came home Friday night.
Inside, nothing was stolen. Nothing was moved. But her toothbrush was wet.
The police searched everything and found no signs of forced entry.
“Probably forgot to close the door all the way,” they said.
Mia started sleeping with a knife under her pillow.
One night, around 2:46 AM, she awoke to the sound of her closet creaking open.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes fixed on the dark slit of the door slowly widening.
A voice, inches from her ear, whispered:
“You lock your windows. That’s good. But not good enough.”
Her scream never made it past the knife.
When they found her body days later, her phone was still recording.
A final video, blurry, shaky, and showing a man’s silhouette, kneeling by her bed, stroking her hair. Whispering:
“Red really did suit you.”
