Don’t Play This Game: Event 7: Followed
There’s a car.
A black Vauxhall Astra.
I used to drive one, years ago. That’s probably why I noticed it—but it’s not just recognition. It’s the pattern.
It parks in my assigned space sometimes. Just long enough to be a problem. Leaves shortly after I arrive. I’ve lived here six years—I know the cars on this street. This one doesn’t belong.
A few days later, I see it again. Different plate. Outside the print shop.
That’s when I knew.
I didn’t want to make a scene. Didn’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist unraveling on Facebook. So I did it quietly.
I asked Alan and Evon—just in passing, casually:
“Do you know whose car that is?”
Two days later, the street’s Facebook group exploded. Posts full of blurry photos of the Astra, tags demanding answers, people posting in full caps that this wouldn’t have happened if the WOKE didn’t stop them having parking permits.
No one claimed it.
Even the usual know-it-alls were silent.
Then last night, I saw him.
From the spare room window—through the slats of the blinds.
Under the streetlight, the drizzle catching silver in the glow.
A man. Hoodie up, face obscured.
Standing beside the Astra.
And he beckoned.
Not urgently. Just… expectantly.
Like this was always going to happen.
I slipped on my jacket, shoved my brass knuckles into my pocket—gift from Scott on a birthday a few years back. Illegal? Maybe. Comforting? Absolutely.
I stepped out into the cold.
The man didn’t move.
He held out a book. A photo album.
I took it.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t explain. Just turned, got into the Astra, and drove away.
Inside, I opened it.
Photo after photo.
All of me.
Walking to the shops. At the café. Working at the printers. Pulling weeds in the garden behind the flats.
Moments I don’t even remember existing in, but there I am.
And in every one…
Something is behind me.
Not a person. Not a shadow. Something.
Black where there should be colour, blurred where there should be light. Sometimes it’s hunched, sometimes tall. Sometimes it leans in, like it’s whispering.
It’s always there.
I thought I was being followed.
I was.
But not by the man.
He was watching the thing that’s already with me.
I don’t feel alone anymore.
But I really, really wish I did.
DON'T PLAY THIS GAME is a Solo TTRPG
