The golden rays of the morning fell through the window like waterfall into the room, waking Sam up from his peaceful dream. The boy sat up slowly and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. Noticing that his father wasn't near him, he climbed out of his bed and wandered down to the living room. He was right: Bobby was watching TV; a breakfast tray lay on the coffee table.
Sam silently joined his father, who looked at him worriedly. It didn't escape his attention, how his boy wrapped his arms around himself and shakily bowed his head. He carefully pulled Sam into his side, a little cry breaking out of the boy, but he just leaned his head on his father's strong shoulder with a sniff. Bobby was up almost all night, guarding his son's dreams, and waiting for possible nightmares. However, because the boy didn't went through physical abuse, just a few pictures disturbed his sleep that didn't even wake his son up.
"It was so horrible…" Sam whispered brokenly, to which Bobby started shushing him. Soon Bobby got up and made his son some scrambled eggs, knowing he won't eat too much because of last night's trauma.
The morning was filled out with comforting and soothing fears then after lunch Bobby decided to go home. Sam held onto him terrified, but let him go away. He looked after the old Ford anxiously, but he made up his mind: he won't let his vacation be destroyed by the fear, so he got ready and into his inherited Impala, which was the possession of his real father. He learned at the age of eighteen, that his father adopted him after the death of his biological parents. Although he wasn't professional with cars, the '67 Chevrolet Impala was treated as one of the world's most valuable treasures. Thanks to his great caring the old girl was always shining like she just came from the production-line in that minute.
He carefully backed out onto the road and the car whisked away towards her destination, purring happily. Sam thought that a little shopping will be perfect to ease his fear from the night. Everything went smoothly: he could purchase the needed stuff quickly, the line wasn't too long and when he finished, he breathed easier. That changed, however.
As he was packing his things into the backseat, a shiver ran through him. He immediately recognized the hard stare that rested on his back. Swallowing hard he straightened, closed the car door and dared a look back above his shoulder. Far away from him, between two houses he saw someone spying on him, but he couldn't make out their appearance. But he was dead certain that figure was watching him.
Sam quickly jumped into the car, and nervously drove home. As he was climbing out, though, to pack his things inside, the same gaze stabbed into his back. With his shopping bags in his arms, heading towards the entrance door he looked towards the gaze: the same person between two houses was watching him.
Sam hurried into the house frightened then throwing his stuff down to the floor he locked the door. It was impossible for someone getting here so quickly without any vehicle. And his stalker didn't have any car or even any motorbike! What the hell is going on? What do they want from him?
Sam quickly dismissed the strange event, but he didn't let it be forgotten. He packed away his purchases then sat down to watch TV until dinnertime. After a soothing shower he got into bed to read some then he went to sleep.
At one A.M. he was startled out of his sleep by a loud bang. He turned on his lamp then pulled a baseball bat from under the bed and sneaked out of his room, holding his "weapon" ready to attack. Reaching the doorway to the living room he leaned with his back against the wall; he shivered from the wind tearing through the house. Peeking around the door frame he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but the window was open.
He cautiously stepped into the room and stood next to the window. Outside he didn't see anyone or anything, so he closed the window and turned the latch on it. He ran back to his room and went to bed. After turning off his lamp he was still thinking about the strange occurrence; the window opens upwards and he latched it, he even checked it twice! Now he was completely lost; with these thoughts he fell asleep.
As Sam turned onto his stomach in his sleep, a figure blocked the moonlight coming through the window glass. His amber eyes were carefully examining the beauty lying before him. His uncontrollable instincts shouted at him to make the prey his, take him with all of his strength and take him hard: just as a wild animal… a Predator! His common sense though kept his animalistic half in check cracking the whip furiously: he needs to lure the prey close – his common sense accommodated to his animalistic half – and have him carefully, because this kind of beauty is precious and breakable.
He stepped closer to the bed without a sound and adoringly studied the muscles under the grey T-shirt and golden-brown skin. Giving into an innocent temptation he leaned down and blew onto the T-shirt. The silky clothing obeyed to his desire: it slid up on the slim waist, exposing a vertebra of the spine. The tickling sensation reached Sam's unconscious mind, causing him to shift. The figure watched the boy unmoving, who just hugged his pillow to himself and slept undisturbed.
The figure's gaze ran up the hard biceps then stopped on the angelic face. Brown tresses fell into closed eyes that were brushed away by an almost unnoticeable touch. Sam's pleasing sigh breezed by the figure's face, who closed his eyes for a moment because of the strengthened scent. He carefully straightened up then stepping to the window he dragged his claws over the soft skin between the T-shirt and the blanket.
Sam was pulled to the surface again, now because of a slight stinging on his back. Sitting up he looked around; now the cool wind blew through the bedroom window. He slowly got up and stepped to the window, but before he closed it, he caught a shadow flit through the light of the streetlights. Finally he could rest undisturbed.
The next day Sam was thinking about the night's strange events. They were topped though with a discovery in the morning at changing. As he was getting off his T-shirt, a strong stinging protested on his waist against the clothing. Hurrying to the mirror he turned his back to it and examined his waist: on the skin there was a long, red line from a claw. Touching it he hissed from the pain and a bit of blood came away on his fingertips. He disinfected the wound carefully then got back to changing. Sitting down on his couch with his laptop he started browsing the Internet. He was sitting there since then, although he forgot the web a long time ago: he was thinking hard about the happenings.
His cell startled him out of his thoughts: its harsh trill made him jump and catch his laptop before it fell down from his lap. He quickly answered his phone; he hadn't looked, who called him.
He was expecting one of his friends; what greeted him left him completely shocked:
"You'll be mine…"
The whisper floated from the cell deeply and gruffly. Sam swallowed hard then he spoke shakily:
"W-who are you? What do you want?"
"My beautiful…" the voice continued. "I left my mark on you… On that slim waist of yours…"
Sam gasped from recognition; his hand flew onto the wound. An evil chuckle came through the speaker.
"That's right" the voice teased. "You'll be mine…"
And with that the line went dead. Sam shakily looked onto his phone then hurriedly looked up the answered calls.
That was written on the screen. Sam got more scared; the stalker will do everything to get what he wants. And his desire was Samuel Morgan.
More days and more mysterious nights had passed by. Sam was startled awake by something every evening, but his window in his bedroom had stayed open only half the time. However, every single morning he discovered new marks on various points of his body: scratches and bruises – though the bruises covered mostly his neck. One evening he went to bed with every door and window locked and barricaded, but waking up in the middle of the night he woke up only to find everything in its place, like nothing had happened. On the window, however, writing glittered in the moonlight:
"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!"
The letters were red like… blood! Sam immediately hurried to clean the window, but as he got closer, the strong smell of thinner flooded his nostrils. He felt relief wash through him that the writing was painted, but fright filled him, too, that his stalker can't be stopped. In that morning he discovered a new scratch, but that one was from five fingers.