If Their Eyes Offend Me

by Lene MacLeod

Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:

I bought the blue enameled pasta pot at the local hardware store. This was something to use for my secondary obsession, cooking. My first passion being inventing useful things.

I paid with debit. Two days later, ads from the manufacturer popped up on social media showing the exact same pot. Information from my debit card went through the system—in two days. I figured the data traveled from store to bank, to manufacturer, to targeted ads. I decided to use cash from then on.

I stopped by bank machines daily to withdraw bills. The security guard noticed. His eyes never left me during these visits. I looked around–electronic beams, sensors, and cameras everywhere.

The targeted advertising continued, online, banners inside buses, flyers blowing down the street in a breeze—all showing products I’d recently browsed, held in my hands, or bought with cash. Some items, I’d merely thought about, or at most mumbled my interest aloud in the presence of my cat. I did not have a smart home system to listen in, not even a smart phone, feeling my flip one did the job and was safer. How did they know? Then I noticed something else. Whenever I was in a grocery store, the discount department store, the hardware store, or anywhere buying anything—they were there with their eyes on me. The next day, that night, or even before I reached home the ads would attack. Buy! Buy more!

They disguised themselves by dressing differently from one another, different color hair, different genders, heights, ages, races. But I caught on. They all had the same eyes. Yes, they were different colors and shapes, but the look in their eyes was all the same, so I knew. Their eyes looked shifty, meaning not only the way the tones shifted: dark brown flashed yellow, the blues and greens gleamed amber, the amber and greys zapped purple, but their devious intent shone through that look in their eyes.

I frequently shop the neighbourhood stores for parts. I am an inventor. I work for myself, but I will be paid when my products are perfected. Everyone will want to buy! buy more!… from me.

I worked all night to complete my latest gadget. Foolishly I performed the final test on my own thumb and practically amputated the digit. A bit of glue and gauzed would hold it together. This new invention was worth it. It would save me. Their surveillance of my consumer habits had a greater purpose than showing me advertisements. Control is what they wanted. My super-suction miniature vacuum pen was meant to clean up small messes on the go. I had now adapted it to fit a large storage tube that I could strap over my shoulder. I’d need somewhere to collect the eyes as I worked my way through the neighborhood. I could deal with the electric eyes later, but the human ones were due for immediate pluck—erm, sucking.

Want another gripping story from Lene MacLeod? Read “Slippers from Hell” in Horrific Scribes, December 2025, “Smashing in the New Year” in Horrific Scribes, January 2026, and “The Nice Café” in Horrific Scribes August 2026.