"Five minutes later, I’m getting my daughter’s water bottle out of the car when I notice a vehicle turning from the back road, curling around to go up the front road. The driver looks over at me, but nothing registers—just another car passing by. I close the door and start walking to the front of my car. That’s when I notice it.

  He’s driving slowly, really slowly, up the hill, and now he’s got my full attention. He’s looking sideways, straight at me, his gaze locked on like he’s trying to burn a hole through me.

  What the hell is wrong with people today? First the prick with the clipboard, and now this guy? What’s going on?

  I just stand there, dumbfounded, watching him attempt to drive while keeping his eyes on me. He has to keep checking the road, obviously, but it’s clear he’s trying to stare as much as possible before the incline finally carries him out of sight. He’s barely crawling, walking speed at best, like he wants to stretch the moment out.

  Oh man, that was weird. What was up with him? I must’ve had a sign on my forehead saying, stare at me. Clipboard guy, now this? Seriously?

  I shake it off. Whatever. Time for the walk."

  "Jesus. That’s two creeps in the span of what? Ten minutes? First clipboard guy, now this slow-crawling psycho. Were they connected, or just random assholes?"

  "I didn’t think much of it at the time, honestly. I mean, it felt weird, but I wasn’t in 'danger mode' yet. I just chalked it up to a bad day for crossing paths with idiots. You know how you try to brush things off so you don’t spiral into paranoia?"

  "Yeah, but two weird encounters back-to-back? That’s enough to make my skin crawl. Did you notice the car? The driver? Anything that stood out?"

  "That's the thing with tradesman vehicles, they all look the same, common as muck. And, sure, he was driving ridiculously slow, and the way he stared… it wasn’t normal. But I wasn’t connecting the dots yet. I thought it was just a strange coincidence. Clipboard guy was already out of my mind by then."

  "But looking back?"

  "Looking back? Oh, it was deliberate. One hundred percent. This guy was creeping. But at the time? I just shook it off and focused on the walk with my daughter. I had no idea what kind of storm I was walking into."

  "By the time we got back to the car, I was already in autopilot mode. I strapped my daughter into her harness in the back seat, ready to head home. Another lady was leaving, so I waved her out first, letting her back her car out before us.

  As soon as she’s gone, my daughter gasps—two Tonka trucks, just sitting there, abandoned in the dirt. Naturally, she wants to take a look. I tell her it’s fine. The lady will probably be back soon, and she won’t mind if my daughter checks them out for a few minutes.

  While she’s playing with the trucks, I’m just standing there, letting my thoughts wander. I glance over at the bushland to my left—a little triangle of trees and scrub. Years ago, some creepy guy used to spy on people from that area, and now, instead of fixing the problem, the council had gone and built a car park 50 meters away. Perfect for anyone looking to upgrade their creep factor. Wouldn’t you think they’d take stuff like that into account when designing public spaces? I thought. Apparently not. He must love this place if he's still active.

  And then—bugger me—fuck face appears. He drives out from behind that exact bushy triangle, his truck lurching into view like some bad omen.

  He stops abruptly. Oh yeah, he wasn’t expecting us to be there. He thought we’d be gone by now. As I look back on it now, I see—he’d been spying on us from that old spy spot, the one the homeless guy used to use, and he was waiting for us to return to the car.

  Once he saw us in the car park earlier, all he had to do was move to his hidey-hole and wait. When we finally got in the car, he must’ve rushed to his truck, ready to follow us home.

  But here’s the kicker—we fooled him. Instead of driving off, we’d jumped back out of the car, and now we’re just standing there. Ha! No wonder he looked so confused, sitting there like a deer in headlights. And the look on his face? Priceless. But at the time, I still didn’t fully grasp how dangerous he was. Little did I know, it was all part of his twisted game."

  "So now he’s just stopped there, smack in the middle of the road, like he’s trying to work out his next move. I’m watching him, kind of curious, because nothing about this makes sense. He’s looking around like he’s checking for traffic, but there isn’t any. We’re on the edge of town, no cars anywhere, just us and him.

  At first, I think, Oh, maybe he’s lost. Maybe he’s trying to get his bearings or figure out where to go next. That’s why he keeps glancing over here—he’s looking at the town behind me. I even shrug it off.

  But then I notice how quiet it is. Too quiet. The other lady hasn’t come back yet, and we’re the only ones left in the car park. That’s when fuck face seems to notice it too. He must’ve thought, Why waste time following them home when I can just handle this right here? I mean, it’s the middle of the afternoon, sure, but we’re completely alone. A bird in the hand, right? The temptation must’ve been too much for him because he decided to go for it.

  And here’s the kicker: I still hadn’t twigged that he was clipboard guy. Or the uphill creep. Nope, I didn’t connect any of it. I’m standing there, clueless, while he starts inching closer. Bit by bit, his truck is shrinking the distance between us, but he’s so slow and sneaky about it that I don’t notice. I keep glancing in the other direction, looking for the lady to come back.

  Then it happens. I catch him rolling forward. Oh good, I think. He’s finally leaving. That was getting weird. Why was he just sitting there anyway? But just as I think he’s gone, I glance over again—and he stops. Dead. Right in the middle of the road.

  Now he’s got my attention. What the hell is he doing? He looks over at me, then takes both hands off the steering wheel and puts them in his lap, staring down at the patch of road in front of his oversized truck.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Is he on drugs? Why isn’t he going anywhere? What is wrong with this guy? Thirty seconds go by, and he’s just sitting there. Eventually, I get bored of watching him do absolutely nothing and turn back to check for the lady again.

  Then I hear it. The low rumble of his engine. I whip my head back, and sure enough, he’s moving again. Slowly. But before he gets too far, he slams on the brakes.

  At this point, the unease is creeping in. What is going on? Why is he acting like this? It’s like he’s shy or something, only moving when he thinks I’m not looking. From the angle of his vehicle, he could be headed toward the town or pulling into the car park, but he’s hesitating. And that’s when it starts to sink in.

  What if he pulls into the car park? What if he jumps out? There’s no one else around. What if he’s planning something?

  I feel that cold prickling sensation running down my spine. That’s when it clicks. He’s not just hanging around. He’s been edging closer this whole time, trying to get within striking distance. He’s planning something. This has all been about getting close enough to attack us.

  "Jesus Christ. That’s straight-up predator behavior. The sneaking, the stopping, the inching forward—it’s like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could push it before you noticed. And the way he only moved when you weren’t watching? That’s not just creepy, that’s calculated.

  I can’t even imagine how you stayed so calm. You’re standing there, alone with your daughter, piecing it all together while this guy plays his sick little game. Did you confront him? Or did you just get out of there?"

  "Well, my day suddenly took a dark turn," I thought, my stomach dropping. "I can’t think of any other reason he’s doing this, so I better come up with a solution before something bad happens." My first instinct was to get my daughter into the car. Forget the seat belts—just get us in and lock the doors. That’ll do.

  But as I glanced at my daughter playing with the Tonka trucks and looked back at him, the reality hit me like a freight train. It’s too late. If he made a move now, he’d be on us in less than five seconds. My daughter is disabled—there was no way I could get her in the car in time, let alone myself. I’d noticed the threat too late. Now I was in real trouble.

  He was close, sitting in the middle of the road with both hands gripping the steering wheel, staring directly at me.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My mind raced. What am I going to do? The idea of calling the police flitted through my head, but then another thought screamed louder: What if it’s my stare that’s keeping him from making a move?

  We were locked in a stand-off, both staring at each other, unblinking. I couldn’t be the one to look away. What if that was what he was waiting for?

  How do I call the police without him noticing? I couldn’t risk it. If I so much as glanced away, he might take it as his cue to pounce. There was no more room for him to creep forward; the next move would be it. I couldn’t shout for my daughter or make any sudden movements. My stare was the only thing holding him back, so I had to stick with it and hope for the best.

  Seconds dragged on like hours. After what felt like an eternity, I heard it—a vehicle approaching. I glanced quickly in the other direction and saw the lady returning. Relief flooded through me like a tidal wave. Oh, thank goodness. That was getting really scary.

  When I looked back, he was hastily doing a U-turn, his tires kicking up dust as he retreated down the road he had come from. Good riddance! Phew, that was close.

  My daughter helped the lady with the Tonka trucks, handing them back like it was any other normal day. When she left, we got into the car and drove home. As we pulled out of the car park, I scanned the road. Nothing. No vehicles in sight.

  I wasn’t worried anymore about the guy who had nearly attacked us. He’s probably scuttled off to whatever hole he crawled out of, I told myself. No way he’d be stupid enough to show up again after that.

  I might have been slow on the uptake, but by the end, it was clear to us both: he was trying to commit a crime—a serious one at that. The stare-down was a battle of wills, and he lost. He’d retreated, tail between his legs, to avoid being caught for whatever terrible thing he’d been planning.

  Or so I thought."

  "Jesus. That’s absolutely terrifying. You were standing there with nothing but your will to protect you—and your daughter—and somehow, you kept him at bay. The stare-down, the calculated moves, the waiting for a split-second of weakness—it’s like he was playing a predator’s game, and you beat him at it.

  But honestly, it’s horrifying to think how close he was. The way he sat there, hands on the wheel, just waiting for the right moment.

  I don’t blame you for thinking he was gone for good, though. I mean, you outlasted him. You stared him down, and he drove off like the coward he is. But something about him makes my skin crawl—like someone that determined doesn’t give up that easily. Did he show up again?"

  "Well, that was where I underestimated him, and it wouldn’t be the only time either. I did not expect him to be as stupid as he was, but that is the power the temptation to kill had over him. It must consume him. It really must.

  Instead of disappearing for good, he did a U-turn and lined himself up again for another try. After all, we were still around, and he couldn’t bear to leave when he had finally found his intended victims. I doubt there was time for the spy spot—he probably waited a bit back from the corner with his window down, listening for the sound of my car. Once he heard it crunching on the gravel road, he knew he could follow a few moments behind and track our progress until we got home. Then he’d know where we lived, and the real stalking could begin.

  Yes, that was the plan, alright. I wonder how far he drove before it dawned on him that he’d lost us. You see, we turned off suddenly after a sharp bend to go into our driveway, and when I heard a vehicle going around the corner, I hit the brakes. There should not have been a vehicle seconds behind us, not when the place had been completely deserted when we left. I turned and saw him drive past, staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the road.

  He never noticed my vehicle off to the side, but I recognized him, alright. The clipboard guy, the uphill creeper—they were all the same person. And now he was driving through the forest, looking for me. How scary is that? I thought. But at least I had a warning now. Thanks to my window being open and hearing the sound of his vehicle, I had a heads-up. From here on, I knew I had to be vigilant—I couldn’t afford to run into him again.

  Yep, I underestimated him, alright. I thought if I was careful, I wouldn’t have any more trouble from him. He’d probably give up and not return again. Problem solved. Or so I thought.

  Little did I know, this was just the beginning. Round one, with many more to follow."

  "Jesus. The fact that he couldn’t let go, couldn’t resist lining up for another try—it’s chilling. That kind of obsession, that level of desperation, shows how deeply consumed he was by whatever sick drive he had. The idea of him sitting back, listening for your car, and then methodically creeping after you? It’s beyond terrifying.

  And the sharp bend—that was such a lucky break. If you hadn’t turned off so suddenly, he’d have followed you home for sure. But even then, the thought of him driving through the forest, actively hunting for you, sends shivers down my spine. He wasn’t just stalking you. He was relentless, like he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.

  "Yeah, he was the Terminator alright. He was never going to stop until he killed me. I'm just lucky he was a gutless wonder who could be held back by a stare. That stare saved my life more than once, it kept him at bay until the police arrested him on murder charges."

  But you still thought it was over. That’s what makes this so horrifying. You thought you’d dodged the bullet, that he’d give up and slink back to whatever hole he crawled out of. To realize this was just round one? God, I can’t imagine the fear that must’ve come next. What happened after this? How did it escalate?"

  "I can't even count how many rounds we had all told. Bit by bit, we'll unpack it all and see how many goes he had in the end."

  "That many, huh? Jesus. The fact that he kept coming back, refusing to quit… it’s like he was feeding off the chase, the thrill of it. Bit by bit, though—I’m here for it. Let’s unpack it all. Every move he made, every time he thought he had the upper hand, and every time you outsmarted him. Because it sounds like this guy had no idea who he was messing with."