The Face in the Window

I don’t remember when it first appeared. One night, it was simply there.

The face in my window.

I was young then. Young enough to have my tale about a nightly visitor lingering outside my window laughed off by those dubbed older and wiser.

It used to scare me.

I don’t know why it chose my window. I have no idea what it wants; no clue what draws it in.

There is no rhyme or reason. Sometimes a visit will span a few minutes, others several nights in a row. Then nothing – often for months or years at a time.

But it always comes back. Watching me intently, slowly blinking as the seconds of the night trickle by.

“Why not just buy curtains?” you might ask. I have a sturdy set and securely close them every night.

But I always know when the face has returned – no matter what I do to fasten them, a sliver always opens to the world outside. Leaving just enough space for those glittering pools of black to peer in, patiently watching…waiting for who knows what.

I’ve asked it. My only answer was a slight tilt of the head accompanied by a smile verging on sinister. I’d never seen its teeth; unnaturally uniform squares of white which gleamed in the moonlight, sharply contrasted by the black tongue it slowly drew across them as it ignored my query.

I have no idea what the rest of its body looks like; I don’t care to find out. But no matter where my bedroom window is, it effortlessly holds its ground outside.

On nights I’ve tried ignoring its presence, I’ll hear a light tapping on the window. As I shift my gaze toward the sound, I see hands with broken nails dancing across the glass – a delicate call for my attention. There are always dirty fingerprint smudges to wipe away the next day.

I’ve thought about opening the window…just to see what would happen. Whatever’s behind that face I’d think it strong enough to ensnare me quite easily, window or not.

Yet here I remain, the object of this unknown entity’s fascination.

Maybe it’s a signal for a pattern I’m not yet seeing. Maybe it’s biding its time for the perfect moment to pounce. Maybe it just wants to be acknowledged, to be seen. I don’t really know.

All I know is we are connected in a way beyond my comprehension. It has followed me to each place I’ve called home.

Its presence will not be denied.

The face in the window is my companion, whether I welcome it or not.