It's been a week. One miserable week. I had tried going to the police to report the break-in. All they did was tell me that without any camera footage or solid proof, they couldn't do anything. When they tested the note and roses they said the only fingerprints on them were mine.
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"Miss Delilah," an officer started to say. "Are you sure you weren't sleepwalking and wrote this letter up yourself as part of the dream?"That caught me off guard, how could they say that?
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"Of course not! How would my great-grandmother's urn have shattered?" I said, disgruntled. The officers around me mumbled and rubbed their necks.
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"I mean, you could've bumped into it while sleepwalking." A different officer said. "I wouldn't put it past you. Or anyone who can't recognize their handwriting."
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"That isn't my handwriting! You people are delusional!" I yelled, getting frustrated.
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"Miss Watkins, perhaps you should see a psychiatrist. You seem to be the only delusional one here."
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I stormed out with roses, letters, and a bag in tow. My head was pounding, and my heart was racing. What could I do? The police were possibly my best hope, and they wouldn't help. They thought I was out of my mind. I haven't received anything in the past week. Maybe I did write those letters up? I quickly banished that thought from my mind. No. No way. I know what I saw. And I'll prove it.
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I head back home and get a call from my best friend, Avery. She's possibly the only one I've told who believes me. I picked it up. "Hel-"
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"Have you heard?" She panicked.
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"Heard what? Are you ok?" I ask, getting worried about my friend's panic.
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"The real question is are you ok!? Turn on the news, now! " I click on the TV and switch it from the kids' channel to the news. I drop the phone as both my hands shoot to my mouth.
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My shop was on TV. The windows smashed, and a fire raged through the hole. A dozen firefighters were working to put it out.
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But the scariest of all was the large red rose spray painted on the door. Under the rose, written in purple were the letters 'ILY' with a big red heart.
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There was a knock and I almost sprinted to open it, thinking it was Avery or a neighbor. It was the police.
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"Miss Watkins, we apologize." They said, apologetically. "You were right, something sinister is going on." I stared then composed myself.
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"I told you," I say calmly.
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"I'm not crazy..."
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