We get strays, sure. Injured dogs. Lost cats. But never — never — a deer at the front door.

It stood there like it belonged, its wide eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. Not afraid. Not confused. Like it had come for me.

Something was wrong. Not in the obvious way. In the primal way — the kind of wrong that prickles your neck and whispers, don’t look away.

And then I saw it.

A leather strap, tightly fastened around its leg.

Tucked inside — a note.

I unfolded it with shaking fingers. Four words:

“HELP US. THEY’RE WATCHING.”

My blood went cold.

Who? Who was watching? And why send this message with a deer?

The cops showed up fast — faster than I expected. And when they saw the note? Their faces changed. Suddenly this wasn’t just strange — it was serious.

They took the deer. Said it was evidence.

That should’ve been the end.

But three days later, my phone rang.

Detective Carter, same officer. His voice was tense:

“We found something. You need to come in.”

The “something” was a stack of photographs.

All of them? Of me.

My clinic. My house. My daily routines. Me walking to my car. Me locking up. Different days, different angles. Months’ worth of surveillance.

Someone had been watching me. For a long time.

Carter’s voice was tight: “You recognize anyone in these?”

I scanned the faces. Most were strangers — until one wasn’t.

Aaron.

A colleague. Friendly. Helpful. I’d worked with him for nearly a year. I trusted him.

He was smiling in one photo — casually leaning against the back entrance of the clinic.

Carter nodded. “He’s been arrested. He wasn’t who you thought.”

I sat frozen.

Turns out Aaron had been involved in an illegal wildlife trafficking ring — using veterinary clinics as fronts. Smuggling rare animals. Using live carriers to move stolen biotech samples.

And the deer? It was part of a field test. They’d surgically implanted encrypted microchips inside wild animals to pass data across borders without detection.

But Aaron got scared. Someone in the network had turned on him.

The note? His last desperate attempt to blow the operation open without exposing himself. He’d tied it to the deer knowing it would wander to my clinic — knowing I’d follow protocol and alert the police.

And I did.

The bust that followed was huge — multiple arrests across state lines. The network had been operating for years, hiding behind clinics like mine.

But it wasn’t over.

Two weeks after the raid, another package arrived at my door. No return address. Inside:

A single photo.

The deer.

Standing in my clinic doorway.

And scribbled across the bottom in jagged handwriting:

“SOME OF US ARE STILL WATCHING.”

I haven’t slept right since.