Sarah woke with a gasp, sunlight peeking through the gaps in her curtains. Her eyes scanned the room, finding no unwanted visitors. The dresser was still in place, the door still shut. Nothing was disturbed. Sarah checked her phone. No voicemails, no messages. A fragile and tentative hope began to swell in her chest. She opened the app on her phone connected to the camera and reviewed the recording from the night before. The motion detector had been triggered a few times: at 2:18a.m. when a car’s headlights had swept across the room, illuminating it, and at 4:43a.m. by the neighbour’s cat jumping onto a ledge outside the dining room window where the curtains didn’t quite cover.

 

Nothing else. No shadowy figures. No open windows. Perhaps the camera was enough of a deterrent. Relief began to ease the tension she had been holding onto, and she let out a sigh. Whatever was going on wasn’t over, but at least she could stop worrying for the moment. Sarah stood up and stepped towards the dresser. Maybe now the morning light from the kitchen window would feel warm instead of exposing. Maybe now–

 

Something caught her eye. She had leaned down to move the dresser and saw it: centred perfectly on the polished wood, between her bottles of perfume and a jar of hair ties. A square Polaroid. It hadn’t been there the night before. She didn’t own a Polaroid camera.

 

Sarah’s feet were rooted to the floor and her blood turned to ice. She picked up the picture, her throat going dry. It was a photo of her. Asleep. A soft glow of moonlight pierced the curtains and highlighted her pale face. Just visible from under the edge of the pillow was the distinct, dark handle of the knife. The photo was close, intimate, and made her feel sick.

 

He had been in the room with her. He had stood over her while she slept, while she was vulnerable. The camera in the living room had seen nothing, and yet he still had found a way into her room. With numb fingers, she turned the photo over. Scrawled in neat handwriting was a message: “Sweet dreams, Sarah. I’ll be seeing you again.”