Phillip sat at the computer and waited for the website to load. DSL with speed boost was so lame. Finally the website faded in. A ghostly apparition floated across a decaying landscape of slightly askew tombstones as a white mist formed lettering.
Night Terrors: Short Excursions into Horror.
Phillip moved the pointer to the “New Stories” button and clicked. He had received an email earlier in the day that his latest Flash Fiction story had been accepted. It was his fifth story published this year and the second on this site. The day’s date popped up and he scrolled down the list until he found it. Below the story were three comments.
"Nice story really dug the ending." --Roadkill 2:34pm
"Cool idea. Nice ending."--B. Nathan 4:10pm
"Another nice story, Phil. The powerful imagery you evoke is intoxicating. Can't wait for my next high."--Helen Thymes 5:01pm
Phillip winced as he read the last remark. He didn’t mind comments. It was always good to hear positive things about your work but this person seemed to get a bit personal. It seemed she was always lurking on any site he was published on. One story he had written a couple of months ago had prompted her to comment: “Loved the tone of this story. It feeds the inner darkness of my soul”.
Then last month he had gotten an email from H.Thymes@gnet. “I hope you know the energy you channel through your words. Its deliciously sweet. …..”
Phillip had not read anymore. The muscles in his back had contracted as if an icicle had been drawn slowly down them. He had fired off an email to a couple of site administrators complaining about the privacy of his personal information. They told him they would look into it and assured him that all information was kept confidential.
Now here this person was again. He shook his head and navigated off the website and back to his emails. By nature he was a private person and the medium of the Internet generally satisfied his need to communicate while at the same time keeping him anonymous.
As he waited for the junk mail filter to sift through his in box, Phillip thought about the next two or three stories he was going to send. Maybe he would use a pseudonym. He had a second email account at work. Maybe he would use that one for a bit.
The junk mail filter finished and he scrolled through his messages. A note from his mom about his Dad’s birthday. A renewal notice for his spyware program and an Orbitz fare bulletin. At the bottom he noticed a final message. It was from H.Thymes@gnet He deleted it without reading the message.
“That seals it,” he muttered to himself.
A couple of weeks had gone by when Philip came into his apartment, dropped a pile of mail on his dinning room table, and headed to the computer. He brought it out of sleep mode and typed the address to his latest published submission.
Just Desserts: A Journal of Macabre Morsels
He loaded the page for new submissions and saw his story at the top. Below the story was a single comment.
"Exquisite imagery. Your work reminds me of someone else I know. Any chance you are related?" -- Helen Thymes 5:32pm
Phillip backed away from the computer a mixture of dread and anger roiling just beneath his skin. He got up and stormed across the living room, picking up the mail and riffling through it in an attempt to clear his mind. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It was just insane.
Underneath the electric bill, the phone bill and some junk mailers he found a small white card with no return address and in bold, flowery scrip, his name: Philip Marsh. No address was listed as if it had been dropped by hand into his mail box. Curious, he opened the envelope to find a bleach white card with a raised, blood- red rose in the left corner. He read the card with a shaking hand before dropping it to the floor. Inside, in the same flowery script, the card said:
Philip,
Flew into town today.
I’m eager to drink in your words, taste your feelings.
Dine at eight?
–Helen Thymes
—
©2009 Kevin M. White
Kevin lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife and their three German Shepherd dogs. HIs work has appeared in Tales from the Zombie Wars, SAND: A Journal of Strange Fiction and Demon Minds.
Tags: Kevin M. White, stalker
February 13th, 2009 at 12:34 am
Nice story.Also,I enjoyed the names of the fake webzines.
February 13th, 2009 at 4:08 am
I liked the names of the webzines too
What I particularly liked is that it shows how little someone has to do to to creep out a more retiring person. Reminded me a bit of my father in law 
February 13th, 2009 at 9:05 am
I enjoyed this! It left me wondering what happened later.
February 13th, 2009 at 9:26 am
Loved this! I agree with Grant, I like the website names too.
February 13th, 2009 at 4:11 pm
Really good. I can’t wait to read your next story, or should I say, I’m eager to drink in your words. Love, Helen
February 13th, 2009 at 8:05 pm
Neat tale. Terrific concept: stalking via computer. Nice how she invites herself into his life at the end. Now you have to write another story about their encounter. I can hardly wait. Also, there’s a moral to this cleverly conceived tale: no matter where you see them, erase all comments from Helen before you read them.
February 20th, 2009 at 2:16 pm
Mmmm…I can’t wait to find out of there is a reason for her stalking
March 4th, 2009 at 10:53 am
Thanks everyone for the comments!!