Beverly Hills Ninja Moves To The Bronx.

Yesterday, October 31st 2011, marked the second anniversary of the day I was stalked by a ninja. 
Last year I took my building's stairs from the 6th floor to the 4th. Under usual circumstances, I would have taken the elevator, but these were not usual circumstances. A couple days earlier I had been yelled at by an angry group of male and female basketball players for using the elevator to travel "only" one floor. Fearing that I would once again run into the disgruntled sports team, I was forced to go against everything I believed in, and to waste unnecessary physical exertion, by taking the stairs. 
Black dress, white face and slit throat walking down the hallway, I realized I was the only person on the floor. Taking one last glance back out into the hallway before I headed down the stairs, A ninja appeared, materialized as eerily as a ghost would have. He waved at my with his fake sword in hand and I waved back. Not thinking much of it, I continued into the staircase. 

As the door closed behind me, His masked ninja face appeared once again. It was pressed up against the glass window that separated us.
Walking down the first flight, I noticed how putrid the stairwell really looked. Fluorescent lights and blue walls. It was as if the word despair was a color and the all the walls were painted of it. Wobbling down the stairs in heels with the grace and femininity of Rosie O'Donnel, I began thinking of a more suitable wall color. 

There to snap me back into reality was the ninja. He was standing in the staircase, just a few steps behind me, staring off into space, unmoving. A nervousness grew in me and I started to run. The ninja followed my lead. He chased me like a real ninja would, crouching and leaping his way down the stairs. I transitioned into a full on sprint and reached the fourth floor where I opened the door to the hallway and slammed it shut hard behind me. 
Walking backwards towards my room, his face appeared once again pressed up against the glass from inside the staircase, each foggy breath making him less and less visible.
After leaving the staircase, he leapt into the common room and ninja rolled behind a couch.
People later told me security referred to him as an intruder.
I never saw him again
......
That is until last night.
My suite-mates, unaware of the history I had with the villian, came into the room half laughing about some creepy ninja they'd just seen crouched into the corner of an elevator. 
Like the surviving member of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie just figuring out that Freddy Krueger was after them again, I screamed out in terror. I ran into my friends room across the hall hysterical and in disbelief. 
On cue, the brave friend of the overly paranoid victim went out into the hall to investigate. Sure enough, the ninja had arrived. He was standing four doors away and staring straight at us. We slammed the door screaming. I stood against the wall clutching my weapon of choice, a baby blue coffee mug; Probably the least intimidating thing  I could find.
His footsteps had finally reached us. He began to drag his ninja sword across the door in swirling patterns and then started to bang on it (a little out of character for the silent ninja, I thought). Then, like the most arrogant ninja I'd ever met, he began tapping his foot outside of the door to convey his impatience with us. Ten minutes later he was gone, off to stalk the rest of the building. 
Roaming the halls with the pervertedness of Freddy Krueger, the silence of Michael Myers and the pure unadulterated evil of Michelle Bachmann, the ninja was a force to be reckoned with. 
And while we've all got our demons, whether inside or out, mine just happens to be a ninja. But in the same way that I hate him, I also love him, for he has given me one more reason not to take the stairs.