The Watchers

It began when she was a young girl and probably should have frightened her a great deal more than it did. As the last embers of daylight faded and darkness overtook her bedroom, an apparition glided silently into the room through the wall. It looked at her then took a seat on a ghostly chair in the corner opposite her bed. It sat silently and watched her.

The apparition looked grizzled. It wore a tattered black cloak with a heavy hood. Thin, gray wisps of hair spilled out from under the hood. Its eyes were not visible. In their place were deep, empty sockets. Its skin was paper thin like old, fragile parchment that held deep, wrinkled furrows. It was bathed in a dull blue hue that filled the room with an eerie glow and softened the deepening darkness.

Despite its terrifying appearance, she somehow sensed a benevolence in its presence. She sat upright, daring not to breath at first. Her heart raced. It pounded against the confines of her rib cage as if trying to escape. After some time, however, she breathed again. Her heart cautiously slowed to a steady, comforting rhythm that wooed her to sleep. The apparition watched.

When she wok it was gone.

The next evening she crawled into bed apprehensively. An uneasy feeling had haunted her throughout the day. She still saw apparition’s image vividly.

Was it real?

The sunlight filling her room through a dirty window started to fade. Maybe it had been but a dream, she reassured herself. Yes, it was likely a fragment of some subconscious fear. Her breathing slowed and her eyelids grew heavy, but as they did the dull blue glow returned, seeping into her room from that far corner.

She jerked upright and pulled her blanket up to her face. Her heart pounded as the apparition again slipped into her room and took its seat. From the corner it watched her with those deep, dark sockets. She sat very still watching it for a long time. Eventually the fear once again ebbed and she slipped into the dream world. In the morning again her room was empty as if nothing had happened.

Night after night it returned, sitting in the corner, watching. It never made a sound, never ventured deeper into her room.

Over time her nerve grew and she tried to communicate with it. She asked who it was. She asked why it had come into her room.

The apparition never answered, never acknowledged her voice. 

It simply sat stoically in the corner watching.

Days and weeks passed into months and years. Its presence grew to be a comfort, a constant in her life. She grew of age and moved off to college. After college she bought a little rambler in the suburbs. Without fail the apparition found her. In twenty years not a night passed without it watching.

From behind the coffee stand’s counter, she caught the man’s eye. He watched her cheerfully greet each customer as she made their espressos and cappuccinos, as she poured their coffees. She treated each person as though they mattered. The man watched her as he patiently waited his turn. His leering, though, raised little hairs on the back of her neck, caused a slight tingle to run down her spine. Still, she pleasantly greeted him as she did everyone and handed him his cup with a warm smile. Their fingers touched inadvertently causing her to recoil slightly, pulling her hand quickly back. He took his coffee and left.

The encounter left her unnerved. It was nothing, she was just being silly, she reassured herself. Still, a lump raised in her throat when she saw him standing in line the next day. The man gave her an awkward smile. She mechanically forced her normally easy and natural smile in return. It was a ritual they repeated each day that week.

Then he was gone.

Her uneasiness ebbed.

The encounter left him on a high. There was something about her, the man told himself. The way she smiled at him. That moment on the first day when their fingers touched. He looked forward to seeing her each day. They had a spark; they had shared something special. One day he would work up the nerve to talk to her. One day he would ask her out. She would say yes. She had smiled at him. They had shared that one moment.

That Friday he awkwardly worked up the nerve to say ‘hi.’ She politely returned his greeting with a smile. Then she was gone, servicing the next customer. They needed privacy. They needed to get away from all these people. He wished he could force them all out and slam the door shutting them out. They would finally be alone.

She would be his.

The thoughts manifested in his head throughout the day. The man fantasized about that touch. He obsessed over her smile. What would it be like when they were alone? He wanted to see her again. He needed to see her again.

His shift couldn’t end quickly enough. He raced to put his gear away, grab his coat and rush down the walkway. The irritated grunts and exclamations of the other pedestrians fell on deaf ears as he forced his way through them to make his way back to her.

She was just leaving the little shop when he arrived. He hung back and watched as she made her way down the street. Once she was well down the block, he followed. They headed a short way down the main drive then jaunted down a narrow side street to her rambler. He was careful to stay just far enough back that she wouldn’t notice him. He didn’t want to startle her, even with what they had shared.

While he watched, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. He should head home, but the man stayed. He watched, licking his lips idly when she passed the window.

Day after day he returned to quietly watch. He gasped to himself each time he caught a glimpse of her. He longed for that touch, for the connection they had felt.

He needed it.

She needed it.

She would like it.

She would like him.

Days passed. The man watching longer. He stayed later. While the sun dipped and her lights came on he watched. He watched as she readied herself and crawled into bed.

She was alone. She longed for him next to her. That touch.

More days passed and the man crept closer. He peered through her window as she pulled up her blankets. He watched as her eyes grew heavy, he watched as she slept.

She was alone. She wanted the man next to her. He was certain of it.

The man crept to the window. It wasn’t locked. He quietly slid it upward then silently pulled himself through the opening. Once inside he crawled along the floor toward her bed. She would like him, but he didn’t want to startle her.

Suddenly she bolted upright in bed. Something was wrong. Her heart raced, it pounded against her chest. What was it, what had woken her?

The apparition rose from its seat and walked toward her. Fear shot threw her body like electricity, her eyes widened, her heart raced. 

As it neared the bed the apparition kneeled as if to crawl onto the bed. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. In place of her voice a piercing shriek broke the silence from the foot of her bed. The apparition stood upright again and backed toward its corner. As it backed away from her bed she saw the man, the apparition gripped his ankle tightly. As the apparition dragged the man toward the corner he screamed and clawed at the floor in a vain attempt to pull himself away. He kicked futilely at the apparition trying desperately to free himself. Undaunted the apparition continued to the corner. Without stopping in its corner the apparition continued, passing right through the wall dragging the man through behind it. 

The screams fell silent.

The dull blue light that had filled her room dimmed, then flickered out. The room went dark for the first time in twenty years.

The next day the apparition did not return.

Author: Ken Gack, the Ripper

The  real events this story is based on were passed to Ken by a barista while she fixed his large mocha. If you are this barista, contact Ken by emailing the address at the bottom of the page if you would like story credit.