The Watcher

At first, Ben thought it was a coincidence.

A small black drone, hovering at the edge of his vision. Street corners, train stations, the far end of the supermarket car park.

Always just far enough away to make him second-guess himself.

He pointed it out to his friends once. “That drone—look.”

Tom glanced up, squinting at the skyline. “What drone?”

It is right there. “You seriously don’t see that?”

Tom shrugged. “You okay, man?”

Ben tried to laugh it off. But the next day, the drone was waiting outside his window.

A week later, he tested it.

He took random turns through the city. Weaved through back alleys, doubled back through crowds. At one point, he hid in a cinema for three hours, slipping out through the fire exit.

When he emerged, it was there. Just above the streetlamp. Unmoving. Watching.

“What do you want?” he exclaimed.

The drone did nothing.

He tried reporting it. The police officer barely listened. “If it’s a private drone, we can’t really do much unless it’s harassing you.”

“It is harassing me,” Ben snapped. “It follows me everywhere.”

“Have you spoken to the owner?”

“There is no owner.”

The officer sighed. “Sir, maybe you should—

Ben never heard the end of that sentence, because outside the station window, hovering just beyond the glass, was the drone.

He turned back to the officer.

“Tell me you see it.”

The officer followed his gaze. Paused.

And then: “See what?”

Ben stopped talking about it after that.

He kept his head down. He ignored the sight of it, ignored the whirring sound it made when he turned a corner, ignored the cold certainty that it would never leave him.

Until one day, while absent-mindedly scrolling through old childhood photos on his phone, he noticed something.

A picture from his 8th birthday.

A group shot with friends.

In the background, just above the rooftops.

A small black dot in the sky. He zoomed in and realised…

The drone had always been watching him.