Stalking Through the Security Cameras

Working the night shift was supposed to be easy—quiet, isolated, and no one to bother you. That’s why I took the job in the first place. It was perfect for someone who preferred working alone, especially since the building emptied out by 6 p.m., leaving me in peace for the rest of the night. Or, at least, that’s how it was supposed to be. At first, the janitor didn’t really bother me. He would show up to clean in the early hours of the night, around 10 or 11 p.m. We’d nod to each other, exchange the typical pleasantries, and then go about our business. But after a while, something started to feel off. It wasn’t just that I kept seeing him wherever I went, but that he seemed to always show up just a little too soon after I moved to a different part of the building. One night, I was down in the basement storage room, organizing some files. It was a remote part of the building, and no one ever went down there. I hadn’t been there for more than five minutes when I heard the telltale sound of the janitor’s cart squeaking around the corner. I brushed it off as a coincidence—after all, he was just doing his job. But then it happened again the next night, and the night after that. No matter where I went, he seemed to show up. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid. Maybe I was imagining it. But the more I tried to dismiss it, the more unsettled I became. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong—he was just there, always a few steps behind me. Too close. Too often. I tried to test it out. One night, I made a point of moving to different parts of the building, trying to be unpredictable. I went from the basement to the break room, then up to the fourth floor to file some paperwork, then down to the loading dock. Each time, within minutes, there he was—mopping, sweeping, or just standing nearby, like he knew exactly where I’d be. The worst part was that he never acknowledged it. He just kept cleaning, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to follow someone around like a shadow. That’s when the real paranoia set in. I started studying the security cameras, telling myself I was just being cautious. The building had cameras in every hallway, and I had access to the feeds. Maybe I could catch a pattern, something that would explain why I kept running into him. What I found was worse than anything I could’ve imagined. As I watched the footage, I realized that the janitor wasn’t just showing up randomly. He was tracking me. Every time I moved to a new location, he’d check the cameras first, watching me through the security system before making his way to wherever I was. Sometimes, he’d linger on the screen for a while, just staring at me working. And it wasn’t just a one-time thing—he had been doing it for weeks, methodically watching me, following my every move. A chill ran down my spine as I realized just how deliberate it all was. I wasn’t imagining things. He was always a few steps behind because he knew exactly where I was going. And I had no idea why. I started avoiding him after that, making sure to be in parts of the building I knew he wasn’t scheduled to clean. But even then, I felt like I was being watched. Every shadow seemed darker, every creak in the building felt more menacing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone, even when the security feeds showed nothing unusual. Finally, one night, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I confronted him. It was late, around midnight, and I was in the break room, pretending to read through some reports while watching the security feeds on my phone. Sure enough, there he was, watching me on the cameras before heading toward the break room. My heart pounded as I heard his cart squeak down the hallway. I stood up as he entered the room, trying to steady my voice. “Why do you keep following me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at me, his face blank, as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Then he shrugged. “I’m just doing my job,” he said, his tone casual, like we were talking about the weather. “Don’t lie to me,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “I’ve seen the footage. I know you’ve been watching me through the cameras.” His expression didn’t change. He just stared at me, unblinking, before shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I didn’t know what to say. It was like talking to a brick wall. He wasn’t denying it, but he wasn’t admitting to it either. He just kept that blank, emotionless stare, like he was waiting for me to back down. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but instead, I just turned and left the room, my heart racing. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, and for the first time in my life, I was truly scared of what someone might do. The worst part? I never caught him again. After that night, he stopped showing up on the security feeds. I didn’t see him in the building anymore, but the paranoia never went away. I always felt like he was still watching, somewhere, just out of sight. I quit the night shift a week later. I couldn’t do it anymore. Even now, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still out there, tracking someone else’s movements, waiting for the right moment to appear again.