Letters- Chapter 1

NB: Trying out a new theme here, let me know what you think of this a basis for a longer story ;)

It's a relief to be home, now. Tuesday's are always stressful in the office full of meetings, notes and gossiping colleagues. As I walk into my apartment which sits on the 5th floor of a high-riser modern block in West London, I immediately let my bag fall off my shoulder and feel instant relief as I massage my aching muscles, tender from carrying a heavy load all day and the walk back. I walk over to my neatly organised shoe rack and go to slip out of my heels and flex my toes. As I look down at my feet, I notice the post has arrived- another thing to add to the never-ending agenda of Tuesdays. I flick through the envelopes, most marked with 'BILL' on, some junk mail from desperate companies until I find an unnamed one in a tatty brown enveloped, addressed with handwriting unfamiliar to me. I notice it also just has 'Helen' on the front, not my surname, address or any postal stamp- this letter was hand delivered. I walk into the lounge area, my work bag in tow, sit on the plush arm chair and tuck my legs in plain black tights up beside me. I place the other mail on the arm and inspect the brown envelope before me, mentally listing possible old friends of mine wishing to get in touch again. None nearby spring to mind so I go ahead and open it. The A5 envelope seems wasted as all I find inside, to my disappointment then horror, is a grubby scrap of paper with pencil scribbles on which I decipher to be 'I'M WATCHING YOU.' My insides turn to ice, as I re-read this again and again. That's it, no signature, address- no way of identifying the sender. I sit feebly reassuring myself this is a joke but who would find humour in this? Probably some silly kid in the block, I tell myself. These apartments may be worth over half a million pounds each but it doesn't mean you don't get some rowdy families. Still, the mysterious brown envelope doesn't leave my mind all evening as I lie in a hot, bubbly bath. I can't relax and can't shake off this new feeling of being watched which lingers all night. I climb out of the tub, and hide myself in a fluffy towel. As I climb into bed that night, I can't drift off- what if there's someone at my window, waiting and watching? Or my front door? My apartment was a cosy home, somewhere I felt safe and secure... Until tonight. Oh well, guess I'd just have to see what the morning brings where hopefully there won't be another letter waiting.