Have You Ever Felt Like You Were Being Watched?

Have you ever felt like you were being watched?
Not just paranoid. Not just nervous. I mean truly … watched.

It was a cool, crisp morning—fall in full swing. I had just gotten off the city bus and was walking those last few blocks to school. We lived one block too far to qualify for the school bus, so this had become part of my routine.

I was wearing the typical Pentecostal girl uniform—dress, long hair, and a pair of two-inch heels that clicked against the sidewalk with every step. My arms were full of books. The air smelled like dry leaves and chimney smoke. It should’ve been a normal day.

But something changed.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up—sharp, sudden. I paused, glancing around quickly. Nothing. No one. Just a few cars parked along the curb. I told myself I was overreacting. That I’d let those conversations the night before—about the BTK killer—get in my head.

Still, I kept walking.

But that feeling only got stronger. A second wave of dread hit, heavier this time. It felt like someone—or something—was trying to warn me. I didn’t see anyone. Didn’t hear anything. But every instinct in me was screaming.

Then I heard the engine.

A white van pulled up behind me, too close for comfort. Close enough to rattle me out of denial. My fight-or-flight kicked in—and I ran. Hard. Books clutched to my chest, heels pounding pavement, lungs burning until I reached the school.

I dropped my books on the cement step and sat there, trembling.

I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the beginning.
The beginning of being watched.
Of being followed.
Of being hunted.

By someone—or maybe something—I still don’t fully understand.

Ever felt it too? That unshakable sense that you're not alone, even when no one’s there?
I’d love to hear your story. Drop it in the comments, or reach out. Some things are easier to carry when we don’t carry them alone.