Curiosity often leads to danger - Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
As I sat in the hospital room, the sterile smell of disinfectant filling my nostrils, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up on me. Jon, my best friend, lay motionless on the bed beside me, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he slept.
My mother sat in a chair by the window, her fingers deftly working the knitting needles as she crafted yet another masterpiece; a hobby she said she picked up shortly after her grandmother, my great grandmother's, death.
Her grandmother had knitted, but my mom said she never had the patience to learn. Only after her grandmother had passed did she finally teach herself how to knit.
And knit she did. Before I was born, my mom had gained tons of practice and knitted loads of things for me: booties, hats, mittens, and my favourite quilt.
It was a neutral pastel colour quilt, with green, yellow, white, blue, and purple, as my parents didn't know my gender until I was born. They'd wanted to be surprised. And they were. Overjoyed but surprised.
I glanced down at my laptop screen, the soft glow illuminating my face in the dimly lit room.
But, work was the furthest thing from my mind.
The latest note stared back at me, taunting me with its cryptic message. Who was behind these mysterious messages? And why were they targeting those closest to me?
At first, it was only the one I'd received while sitting in mom's bakery. Then a couple days later in my locker, which I just realized I had yet to read. I'd been so busy with school and what, I'd just shoved them all in a hidden compartment in one of the books on my bookshelf in my room.
I delved into the depths of the internet, searching for answers to the mystery that had consumed my thoughts. The word "stalkers" glared back at me from the screen, a chilling reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows.
The articles I read painted a grim picture of obsession and delusion. It seemed that my stalker fit the profile of an intimacy seeker, someone who believed their feelings were reciprocated when they clearly weren't.
But then I stumbled upon a term that sent shivers down my spine - erotomania. A condition where individuals believe that another person is in love with them, regardless of reality. Could this be what was driving my stalker's twisted actions?
It mentioned that this condition was more common in women and often involved an unhealthy obsession with someone of higher social status.
As I read further into the article, detailing primary and secondary forms of erotomania, my mind raced with possibilities.
What if this wasn't just primary erotomania but secondary, linked to a more severe mental disorder? The possibility sent shivers down my spine as I considered what kind of danger I might be facing.
Secondary erotomania often coexists with other mental disorders such as paranoid schizophrenia. This form of erotomania may be accompanied by persecutory delusions, hallucinations, and grandiose ideas.
The gradual onset of secondary erotomania suggests a more complex interplay of underlying mental health issues, such as bipolar I disorder or schizophrenia.
In these cases, the erotomanic delusions may be exacerbated by factors like alcoholism or the use of antidepressants.
The thought made my blood run cold. What if this wasn't just about obsession anymore? What if there were darker forces at play here?
YOU ARE READING
The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)
Mystery / Thriller*Editing* In the small town of Willow Creek, nestled among the rolling hills and whispering trees, lies a dark secret that has haunted its residents for generations. Over the years, more than a hundred young women and girls have vanished without a t...
