Superman Stole My Panties

Delicious In Red.

‘You would look delicious in Red.’

                It was anonymous.

                I sat on my bed, my fingers rubbing over the note gently. The sun light spilled into my room in small amounts as it sank beneath the horizon quickly. I sat cross legged on my bed. The silence of the room comforted me.

                My fingers gripped the note tightly on either side. My eyes were focused on the small letters written in neat cursive on the thin paper. It was the size of something out of a fortune cookie with writing just as big. The writing was hand-written in red ink.

                A single red drop dotted the side of the note next to the word ‘red’.

                I received it on my way to seventh period. I had opened my locker to grab a book for the next class when the note fluttered out and onto my chest. I pulled it off, sticking it into my pocket.

                I didn’t read it until I was walking out of that period.

                The six words managed to raised the hair on my skin and send a shiver down my spine. It was written neatly as if the writer took his time. I noticed how the last word was capitalized. Despite not knowing who wrote me the note, I could feel the terror it projected.

                The six words weren’t a threat, but they were definitely threatening.

                It was the third Wednesday of October, roughly a week after the incident at McDonald’s. I had taken the evening off, claiming to have thrown up once I got off the bus. Ronnie wished me well but dismissed it as a 24-hour virus.

                Truth-be-told, the note had disturbed me enough not to want to go to work for the evening. This was the first day I had taken off since I began working there. The feeling the note projected reminded me too much of what happened nearly a week ago.

                I had managed to convince myself that the superhero hadn’t existed. It’d been nearly a week, and there was no sign of him. The news hadn’t mentioned him once since their strange report the other day. With no evidence to prove otherwise, I dismissed him as a post-traumatic stress symptom. I kept his visits to myself so as not to worry my Grandmother.

                Until this note arrived, life had fallen back into place.

                There was a sharp knock on the door.

                I licked my lips slowly before prying my eyes away from the note for the first time in a few hours. I crumpled it in my hands quickly, “Yeah?”

                Grandma opened the door sticking her head in, “It’s almost eight, Avery. I’m going to go to bed. If you think you can stomach it, there’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge.”

                I smiled weakly, “Good night, Grandma.”

                She closed the door softly.

                I had told her about throwing up earlier, but pinned it on my period. She had accepted it without hesitation, muttering about the strange things that happened when she got her period. That was the last of our interaction for the afternoon.

                Leaning back in my bed, I rubbed my eyes furiously. I set the note gently on my nightstand, grabbing my phone out of my pocket.