Stalking part 5. The Knife

Performer naked in mask - Oil painting by Jo Fisher Robers
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The dustbin of The Desired is nearly always a let down, but I did find an old steel knife, 9cm long, amongst potato peel and Kleenex. I hid the knife from Sasha.

A knife can have a funny affect on you. You know what it is capable of,  it knows how weak you are. So on a cold hard night when I couldn’t sleep the knife gave me the idea to sneak out of my family house; the drama to keep me going through the dark pouring rain; the arrogance to wait there in front of his house. It knew me well.

I stood leaning against a roadside tree, watching what I thought was his bedroom. The light was off. I imagined him asleep, I pressed the knife against my hand in my pocket and realized how very alone I was.

I had pretended to know him.  It had been an intense passionate relationship in my head, he was a brave hero who looked after me come what may, in my head, my very own personal Jesus, in my head, but the knife told me it was all a lie. With that lie there were many more lies, friendships evaporated, what was Sasha to me? Or I to her? Who was my brother when he wasn’t with me? Right there standing in the cold rain outside a stranger’s house the knife was my real friend. I knew it was real because it hurt when I pressed it into my flesh. I picked up a chestnut lying on the ground, took the knife and cut into the shell,  it slid open easily, inside it was empty accept for a shriveled old skin. The rain became huge great shards of ice between me and everything else, and I was just a cold shell, hollow and hard.

Action was needed!

Somehow.

I couldn’t have come this far and done nothing. There was meat in that house waiting to be taken. I felt so cold and wet, my mouth watered with the thought of his warm body, the need to clasp hold of it, the need to devour hot red blood fueled flesh. I had a knife in my hand and it felt a strange attraction to his back.

Stalking Part 1

Stalking part 3. We knew he knew he was one of us.

Passport photo of me at 14 years old
A teenage stalker

Please Note: This blog does not in any way advocate stalking!

It was a Wednesday in autumn when we first decided to follow him home. He’d been getting popular at school. The traitor! We’d never actually talked to him, but we knew he knew he was one of us.  Now damn it he was beginning to betray us, finding other friends. We had to take action!

We both bunked our last lessons that Wednesday, spent the time wondering round Erith market looking suspicious. We returned to the school gates at five to 4. It was a large school with 2000 students, a lot of them spending time hanging round the school gates, so we weren’t conspicuous. He came out on his own, late, head down, hands in pockets of a well designed overcoat, looking very much alone. We felt a little waft of emotion, he was one of us! Though the overcoat did suggest a level of expensive fashion that we could, despite our shop-lifting escapades, never hope to meet.

We were quite good at stalking. You might think that as teenage school girls we’d be all giggly and silly. We weren’t, we were taking it very seriously. Barely talking to each other at all, just nods and eyebrows.

He walked fast. Down the small roads and alley ways that cover Northumberland Heath. We had to almost jog to keep up with him. It was only because he stopped to get a coke from a grocers that me managed to keep on his track, though Sasha, red faced and gasping for breath, almost gave us away outside the store . We pretended to be fascinated by the marrows. They were big.

On and on he went, till I didn’t know where we were. It was posher than Erith, big houses and large trees lining the roads. He turned a corner into a wide quiet street full of detached houses, and vanished.

We were exhausted, Sasha was almost bent double wheezing and I was feeling very light headed. It was about 6 o’clock and quite dark, we had missed our usual post school activity of stuffing spaghetti hoops in front of horror movies at Sasha’s. We needed replenishment. So it was agreed we’d continue the hunt the following night but right now what we needed was an extra large Mars Bar each and some Nightmare on Elm Street.

To be continued…

Stalking part 2. The Lust of Teenage Girls

Part 1. A Bit of Old Fashioned Stalking

Part 4.With thunderbirds

 

 

A bit of old fashioned stalking

Stalking, what is it these days?

The idea of a Facebook Stalker is perplexing to me. So you put something up in a Public Space with what amounts to an advertising board notifying others that its there, but anyone you consider to be undesirable who looks at your page more than once is a stalker? Is that how it works? To quote the Urban Dictionary  “It seems to be that the term ‘stalker’ no longer means what it used to mean–the pathological ANONYMOUS follower and tab-keeper of another person or persons”.

Now I, and this may disappoint some people, have never been a Facebook Stalker. I try occassionally, but get insanely paranoid (he/she can feel me looking) so it never lasts more than one click. I have been stalked in the real world, in the old fashioned way, it was terrifying! And I have, in the old fashioned way, stalked…

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When I was about fourteen a new boy started at school. The school was the rather run down remains of a secondary modern with 2000 students and a reputation for hooliganism. My best friend at the time was Sasha.  We had both started the school in what were termed “the units”, a dumping ground for all low achieving/problem children.

By the time this story is set we had both just managed to scrape ourselves out of the pit of abandoned “specials” into the next more respectable level. But to the other children in our new class Sasha and I didn’t belong. We were freaks from the lower level who would never manage to fit in. Thats why this new boy was particularly interesting to us, he didn’t fit either, but for very different reasons. He had been at public school.

What was a public school boy doing at a place like this? He spoke “posh”. He was fairly good looking with blonde hair and an expensive haircut. Expensive watch and expensive shoes.

My best friend Sasha and I were exceedingly curious to know more about him. And once you are labelled a freak it is easy to behave as one.

To be continued…

Stalking part2.