The girl in the photo on her wall blinked. Susan rubbed her eyes, exhaustion weighing her limbs. Bleary-eyed she observed the photo again, breath held, but the girl remained motionless.

Taking this as a sign that she should put aside her laptop, she closed the lid, and lumbered, stiff-limbed, to the tiny kitchenette. She flicked on the kettle, then, thinking better of the caffeine consumption, instead took a glass from the dishwasher and filled it with water. Leaning back against the sink she took a deep gulp, closing her eyes and letting the tension flow out of her shoulder and neck muscles.

Her lids flickered open as she lowered the glass, and she gasped in shock, seeing a shadowy figure standing in the corner of her living room through the open doorway. A shocked inhale shook her figure, and she lurched forward to slam the door closed. Heart hammering, she scanned the room for her phone. It was not there. Susan’s stomach dropped. She felt all the blood rushing to her limbs, and for a second thought she would faint. “Who’s there?? What are you doing in my house?” Her voice shook. Silence.

Susan held her breath to try to discern the slightest sound.

“I said who’s there? I’m calling the police”. Silence.

Susan wasn’t sure how long passed while she barricaded the closed door, listening eternally for an answer, a rustle, a step.

She could hear cars passing in the street below, far off a train thundered by. A neighbour’s dog barked in the communal gardens. But nothing from the next room.

Susan knew she couldn’t stay in the kitchen indefinitely, there was no way of raising an alarm or attracting help. She would have to open the door, and check to make sure the person was gone, or make a run for her office / second bedroom and the phone that lay uselessly on her desk.

Psyching herself up, she opened the door and burst out into the living room, running for the hall to the rest of the flat. Somewhere in her psyche she must have registered that it was empty, but she didn’t stop until she slammed the office door shut behind her. Grabbing her phone she called her mum, almost hysterical with relief when she answered within a few rings. She explained what had happened between sobs, and had the welcome news that her mum and stepdad were immediately getting in the car and would be there as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime, her mum advised her to call the police, letting them know the person could still be in the property.

Susan made the call, staying on the line with despatch with her back pressed against the office door. Soon enough she heard sirens, followed by heavy knocking and male voices shouting “Police, open up”. The call handler confirmed it was the officers, and Susan darted to the front door, near delirious with terror.

The police were quick and professional, they led her into the hallway while they systematically searched the flat. She heard their footsteps moving from room to room, doors and cupboards opening and closing, radio chatter, and confident voices clearing each space. After a few short minutes, a male officer approached her, gently guiding her back into the living room. Sitting opposite her on the sofa, he questioned her about exactly what had happened, about times, and descriptions, and her actions. Susan knew she was being vague, but she couldn’t provide anything to go off. She wasn’t sure what time she had closed her laptop; she had no idea how long she had waited before her mad dash to the phone. She had no idea of who it was, or what they looked like, or why someone might want to enter her home. She answered all of his questions, picking at the skin on her fingers, realising exactly how little she could tell them. Looking up, she saw a glance between the officers but wasn’t sure how to interpret it.

The police had not found anyone, there was no sign of forced entry, nothing had been taken or disturbed. There was no evidence of a crime.

Susan’s mother rushed in, pulling her into a hug, and asking urgent questions of the officers. The male officer asked her for a private word and led her into the kitchen. Susan watched, confused and disoriented, as her mother looked stunned, then concerned, then shaking her head in a firm denial. Her head turned to Susan, and they locked eyes, a frown forming between her brows.

Within minutes the Police presence dissipated, with the male officer leaving last, with her mother’s profuse thanks following him, and a reassurance that they would look after Susan.

Her mum closed the door behind them, before coming to perch on the coffee table, and pat Susan’s hand. “Are you feeling okay my love?”. Susan was not, she was exhausted, and her system felt completely overwhelmed. “Come back to our house for tonight lovely, I’d feel much better if you did, and George can fit some new locks to your door before we bring you back tomorrow”. Susan nodded and meekly followed them to the car, feeling comforted by her mother’s maternal presence.

Susan had been back home for 3 days, and her life had slowly returned to normal, she had felt very on-edge at first, but soon the extra safety measures and the routine had her almost reassured. She had been back at home for 3 days when the girl in the photo blinked again.

Susan felt blood drain from her face and stared without blinking at the frame. It did not move again. Finally withdrawing her gaze back to her screen, it took a second for her peripheral vision to alert her to a shape in the living room. The shadowy figure once more occupied the corner of the room, but this time she saw it turn slightly. Heart thundering at this confirmation of the previous incident, she screamed and ran to slam the door between them. Sobbing she dialled the phone in her hand, begging the Police for help between panicked breaths.

This time they questioned her for longer, and their manner was not so much concerned as irritated. They asked strange questions that she couldn’t understand the relevance of, like whether she was on medication, and if she drank, and whether she was aware that wasting police time was a crime, and what type of calls they may be missing being here, carrying out a search on a property with no sign of entry; where nothing had been taken; where CCTV in the hallway showed no one entering since she had returned from the shops earlier in the day.

This time Susan stayed on edge, she didn’t go anywhere in the flat without her phone and spent fevered hours googling internal cameras and security systems.

It happened again though, and again, and again. Every time the girl in the photo blinked, the shadowy figure would appear. Every day it moved closer, and closer. Every time Susan called for help, reassured when the Police arrived, mortified when they left, chastising her for wasting time.

She began noticing a pattern, a red car driving past the window just before the girl would blink. She told the Police. They asked for details of the car, but she had none. Sleeping little she had become almost manic, she didn’t know the make, she didn’t know who it could be, why they were stalking her. The police officer wrote everything down, then left again without any further action.

She felt her descent into madness, felt the judgment and the doubt. She could not convince anyone of what was happening. Each time the Police came to her flat, she became more and more desperate, proposing wild theories about ex-partners, or invisibility, or holes in the floor. One day she sobbed hysterically while begging the officers to search behind the armchair again, and again.

A month after the first call, Sgt Kruff was hailed to attend the now well-known address. Sighing he turned the patrol car round, explaining the circumstances about ‘crazy Susan’ to his young probationer. Pulling into a bay, they pressed the delivery button to access the block of flats and took the lift to the third floor. Sgt Kruff paused mid-step as they approached the door which, unlike every other time, was wide open. Getting closer he saw a trail of smeared blood on the polished concrete floor leading to the stairs. Sgt Kruff updated the control room and entered the property calling for Susan. He found her on the kitchen floor, face swollen almost beyond recognition, naked, and blood smeared from a gaping wound in her knee. Approaching, he checked her vitals, realised she was alive but unconscious, and immediately requested an ambulance and backup to preserve the scene.

Susan woke while the paramedics were checking her over. Seemingly lucid, she greeted them with a too-wide smile. “Why are you here? Is someone hurt?” The paramedics explained that she had been injured, though Susan vehemently denied that she was. She was eventually convinced to go with the paramedics for a check over, and asked Sgt Kruff to retrieve her dress from the bed. Going into the room all he found was a blood-stained sheet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Returning with it, he probed Susan to try to find out what had happened. Susan answered, but with a vacant and glassy eyed stare. “That’s my dress, thank you”. Sgt Kruff explained it was a bedsheet, gently probing for the reasons for the bloodstains. Susan laughed humourlessly. “No that’s just the pattern, that’s my dress”. The paramedic caught Sgt Kruff’s eye, “Don’t worry Susan, we will just cover you with one of our blankets, we don’t want anything in the way of that knee anyway”.

Susan looked confused. “My knee is fine” she said tonelessly. She stopped, staring out of the window intensely. A shadow seemed to pass over her features. She began muttering and Sgt Kruff leaned in to make out her words. “Red car. Red car. Don’t blink. This is my house. Don’t blink. Invisible spray? Camouflage. Why are they here? Why are they here? Don’t come any closer. Don’t blink.”

Sgt Kruff drew back dismayed at the state of Susan. He couldn’t help but feel they had missed some serious red flags to get her help before her descent into madness. He watched her as she was wheeled out of the flat, knowing that physical injuries aside, she was likely to need far more help with her apparent psychosis.

He was approached by the officers conducting initial enquiries in the building. No neighbours had heard or seen anything. CCTV showed Susan in the hallway rushing to the stairs, then dragging herself back along the corridor bloody and beaten not 10 minutes later. There was no CCTV in the stairwell. No one chased Susan. No one entered or exited the stairs from any other floor or her flat. The only conclusion they could draw was that Susan had fallen on the stairs - supported by traces of blood on the next landing down. As she was physically okay, and it didn’t appear there was any 3rd party involvement the scene would be stood down. No crime to record here.

Saddened by the whole incident, Sgt Kruff called Susan’s mother to let her know what had happened and where to find Susan.

He went back into Susan’s flat to retrieve her keys to lock up the property. He found his probationer standing in Susan’s office, staring at a photo of a young girl. “Sarge, you’re going to think this is mad, but I swear to God that girl just blinked” ….