The Watching (500 words or less)

The WatchingI found the camera behind the bathroom mirror last Tuesday.Not a modern one. Old. Analog. Still warm.I smashed it, burned the tape inside. Moved apartments that weekend.The new place felt safer. Tenth floor. Doorman. Deadbolts.Then I saw the photos slipped under my door.Me sleeping. Me showering. Me reading this very sentence.The last photo was taken from inside my closet. Time-stamped two minutes ago.I haven't moved. Haven't breathed. The closet door is still closed.But I can hear it now—that mechanical whir of film advancing.Click.It knows I finally heard it.