I took them home

A man came to my desk today. He said he helps people feel well. He smiled too much. He asked where I go to school. He asked if I live alone.

His little finger touched my hand. I stepped back.

I do not like how he looked at me.

I found his card on the desk. It had a number on the back. The ink looked the same as the ink on a brown envelope. That night, under my lamp, I put them side by side. Same paper. Same color. Same little bits in the paper.

Something is connected. I can feel it.

Then, at the end of my shift, I went to put the envelope back. A hand reached from the dark hallway. The drawer slammed on my fingers. Three nails went white. I looked up. No one was there.

I put both things in my bag. I brought them home.

Now it is 11 at night. I am drawing the paper with my lamp on. My fingers still hurt.

I am not scared. I am just a little scared.