A Frightening Window
I think that I should make a short explanation before I start. I am a bit potty about weapon, all kinds of strategy of survival, tactical gear, binoculars, flashlights and like. I have a large stuff of such things, but the gem of the collection is Remington Model 700 rifle (it is possible to buy it legally if you have possessed a shotgun for 5 years before).
I have even a couple of scopes in pair to the rifle – one being more precise, the other is less. No, I don’t consider myself to be a nut, but I like feeling myself ready to face troubles in our tumultuous times. But, this is just a prehistory as I said before.
The story itself sounds like this. Once I had to rent an apartment in one of the NY districts. I needed it for business and I was not going to stay there long. So, I signed a lodger tenancy agreement for two months only. The apartment was located at the 11th floor of a block. A splendid sight would open to my eyes through the windows if there was not another 11-storied block in a distance of 650 ft from me. I saw nothing except its windows. My apartment was cheap and there weren’t even a TVset or Internet. So, I was lack of entertainment and work by hard adventure, for I had it less than I expected. I amused myself by reading and watching through the rifle as the twilight fell. I created such an entertainment for myself on the third day of staying in the apartment. I used to adjust the riflescope and watch at the street through it. I estimated the distance for different subjects, glanced in pair of windows and dropped into these amusements. I pulled a table up to the window, mounted there my Remington with the scope and began investigating the life of the tenants in the opposite block through a gap between curtains. I used to spend all my evenings in such a way since that day.
Of course, you can blame me and I will agree with you. There is no good in watching people through a scope, even if a rifle is unloaded. But I couldn’t prevent myself from doing it anyway. The opposite block was like a large scene with many interesting heroes. I watched as a man from the 5th store entertained himself with porno videos and I got bored watching him soon. Than I watched a small boy from the 8th storey who trained every evening in the kitchen. Most of all I liked to watch a young couple from the 6th floor. They were very hot and did THIS in all poses I have ever known. Seemed to me they were not satisfied with what they had already achieved. By the way, they seemed not to know how the light turned off in their bedroom. I could watch them endlessly and hoped to learn much from them. There were also some drunks, who were interesting during their drunken brawls only, single women with children, regular families, and many other heroes. But my story is not about them.
Once I looked into the window on the 7th floor accidentally while being occupied with my usual “watching business”. I hadn’t looked into in before. I saw an empty room lit by a single lamp hanging on the ceiling. The door was tightly closed. There was a bed in the corner. A man in traditional Yoga pose was sitting on it. He attracted my attention by his motionlessness and I decided to watch him. The man sat being turned back to the window and looked into the wall. He was very thin, pale and tall. His completely bald head seemed to be disproportionately big. He was lack of shirt and pants. I had watched him for five minutes, but he did not move a muscle. I shifted the scope on the wall where he looked but the wall was empty. There were neither pictures, nor carpets. Pale wallpaper were ragged in some places. I examined all the room through a scope but didn’t find anything interesting. There was couple of chairs, a table with a pile of newspapers, an old armchair, a small carpet on the floor near the bed. I noticed several suspicious scratches on the closed door and this was all I had marked. I decided that the dude was just meditating and I shouldn’t expect any tricks from him. So, I shifted the scope to my favourite karate boy, who was just flexing muscles before training.
Two hours later the young fighter and restless couple finished their performances. I looked into the Yoga’s window again. He was sitting in the same pose staring at the wall. I put away the rifle and went to bed 30 seconds later.
I would probably have forgotten all of this, if I hadn’t looked into the Yoga’s window by mistake couple of days later. I saw nothing new and it angered me for some reason. Frankly speaking, I earnestly believed that every lodger of the opposite block was obliged to entertain me each evening. And this dude was just sitting and staring at the wall. Though he might not staring, but sleeping. Or maybe he was dead? I mean, he was a doll. And maybe he was really dead – he meditated much and got into the Astral plane. Finally, I was interested and had watched him during an hour. He didn’t move. He was really a doll. Besides, he was so thin, tall with big head and pale skin, his arms seemed to reach knees. I have never seen such people before. But what this doll did alone in the room? Was this room a props warehouse? And where are the other things than? Why nobody entered the room? Was the apartment empty? And who turned on the light then? I inspected the adjacent windows. According to my plan, there was another flat on the right for there lived a family with two children. The left windows were dark, there was no light in it. Okay. I decided to prescind, but neither karate boy nor sweet lovers brought me joy that night.
The next day I came home early and leaned to the scope immediately. That bastard was sitting in the same pose. Though, I noticed that he turned a little bit to the other side. So, something happened there anyway.
I observed him the whole evening. He hadn’t even visited a toilet. I was sitting too and staring into the scope. He was also sitting and staring at the wall. He seemed to breathe slightly. Or it was just tricks of my imagination. Finally, my eyes were tired and went to bed.
Before leaving to the work, I looked once again in the window. Nothing changed.
So, I had watched him for a week. I had done it for a couple of minutes in the morning and a few hours in the evening. From time to time his position was slightly changed, but I couldn’t see how it was happened. One day I came back home from work and saw that the sheets on the bed were changed! From that moment, I decided to watch the bastard for 24 hours.
I was busy all night through but finally I was satisfied by the result. I mounted the rifle on the legs and set sights on the window. Than I mounted a camera near the scope’s ocular using a tripod. It recorded video on my laptop’s hard disc drive, so I could look through the record any time and get known what had happened during those several hours that I was away. In the morning I checked the system once again, pressed “record” button on the camera and left.
I was disappointed on the first day. The cam recorded all the events fairly, and Yoga had sat on the bed during all 8 hours without moving a muscle. I could hardly arm myself with patience to repeat the operation on the second day.
I was luckier on the next day. In the evening I looked through the video and saw a woman entering Yoga’s room at 14:17 p.m. She held a tray on her hands. At first, I thought she would began feeding him and there was almost nothing on the tray. I saw a bottle and several little boxes. The woman approached to the Yoga slowly and put the tray down before him on the bed. She had stood motionlessly for a while and looked at him. I thought they were talking but her lips didn’t move. Than she rubbed his hand and leaned forward tensely for a couple of seconds. I couldn’t see what she had done to him exactly for the thin Yoga’s back shielded the scene. But she seemingly give him a shot in the hand. At least, this was what I felt. Than she came up to the window, but her motions were strange for he sidled – not just walked. She opened the window and had a smoke. After she had finished she closed the window, took away the tray and left the room crab-wise. Nothing else happened. Finally, I raised my eyes off the screen and looked into the scope – nothing changed in the room as if I was watching the last scene from the record. I would never know that somebody was visiting Yoga without camera.
I reviewed the video again. There was something strange in it, I would say it was even frightening. Although it seemed clear to me. The pale hollow dude used to sit on the bed. May be he was a numb nuts or something like this. A nurse sometimes visited him to give shots, to smoke a cigarette and leave. I reviewed the video one more time. And more. I couldn’t make a decision. I checked Yoga once again looking into the scope – the bustard was still sitting. And than I went to bed.
According to my weeks surveillance system I drew up the following conclusions.
- the woman with the tray visited the room once in two days approximately at 14 or 15 p.m., she gave Yoga a shot, smoked a cigarette and left;
- nothing else happened in the room!
Nevertheless, I’d been dangerously close to obsessing over these events. At first, I hadn’t seen yet as the sheets were changed. At second, I realized why I had considered the woman’s behavior to be strange: she visited the room for three times and never – not for a second – she turned her back to him.
I had watched him for a few weeks, I had nearly forgotten about my work. During this time the sheets were changed one more time but I missed it again. I did not know how it had happened. It could happen only in the night when I was sleeping. I also learned that the woman left the apartment for 30-40 minutes two times a week. I saw her coming out of the entrance hall and coming back with couple of packages. Several times I succeeded to follow her – she went to the nearest grocery store and dropped in a pharmacy on her way back. I tried to find out what she had bought at the pharmacy, but she took away a check and I was shy to ask pharmacist about her purchases.
Every two days the woman entered the room, gave him a shot, smoked a cigarette and left. She had never turned her back to him – not for a moment. I examined his room thoroughly. I thought a lot about the scratches on the door, about the ragged wallpaper. The stripes on the door were a ragged paint. And it was ragged by the one thing – these were his nails. I did not have any reason to think in this way, but I couldn’t find another explanation. He began frighten me. I looked at him through the scope, I stared his back for hours, and he was just sitting on the bed in the corner. It was an awful sight for I saw little children playing and jumping on the sofa in the adjacent flat. They didn’t knew that a freak sat on the bed in a distance of 6 ft from them.
I realized that I had to do something, but I couldn’t guess what. Call the police? What would I say them? Ok, they would arrive, rang the doorbell and it wouldn’t be open. What would be next?
I was all exhausted. Being on my work I turned Internet on its head, but found nothing except scary stories (though one story matched my case). I tried to find something out from the block’s tenants, but nobody knew something about him. Finally, I decided to do the silliest act in my life.
I was well prepared: I took a pair of my best knives, traumatic gun, a mask to hide my face if anything cropped up, latchkey, flashlight, firecrackers for attention distraction, a smoke bomb. I put it all into my pockets, trying not to look suspicious and rumble with each step, and then went outside and sat on a bench at that very entrance hall. I began waiting. If the police officers would like to check me at that moment, I would had big problems. Sometimes I regret they hadn’t checked me.
The most interesting thing was that I didn’t know what I was going to do sitting on the bench.
40 minutes passed and I saw the woman – from that apartment – going out and disappearing toward grocery. I had half an hour at my disposure. I stood up and entered the hall she had just left.
I climbed the 7th floor. The hall door was not locked and I opened it. I found myself in the middle of the dimly lit corridor, one end of which was incredibly cluttered. There were bike without wheels, skis, sledges, some dusty boxes, broken pieces of wooden furniture and a wheelchair standing along the wall. For some reason it caught my attention. Figuring facts in my mind, I understood that the needed door was located just behind this clutter and I directed myself there without breathing. Here it was, upholstered with brown oilcloth, the apartment number 41. Door handle, keyholes, door viewer – there was nothing special. I stopped in two 6 ft from the door, trying to gather my minds. What was I doing there? What was I going to do?
My body shook. I was just standing and looking on the door and the wheelchair. I had suddenly realized that I heard something more than my sniff. I stopped breathing and strained my ears.
The sound came from the apartment #41 and it was evidently approaching the door. Footsteps receded before I realized it. There was a tense silence. Thoughts in my mind moved very slowly. I suddenly became conscious of the fact that I heard HIS footsteps. He came up to the door and was now standing behind it. Damn, he was looking at me through the door viewer!
At that moment, the door handle began spinning quickly, and someone evidently pulled the door from inside strongly judging on how it crackled. I ran away from the place as hard as I could. I didn’t remember how I descended from the 7th floor. I could only say that I did it quick. I succeeded to pull myself together only leaving the entrance hall. I was smart enough not to run towards my block immediately and I went round the yard to cover up tracks. I was home 10 minutes later. I rushed into my room, took the rifle and directed the scope on his window.
That was really frightening moment. He stood near the window, ragged the glass by his hand and looked straight at me. I saw him just for a second. But I will never forget the scene: his thin, hollow body, bones seen through the pale skin, very long arms ragging the glass with crooked fingers, big white hairless head with tiny freaky face without nose, two large dark eyes and mouth without lips. His hands were moving, the mouth was spelling something, leaving wet traces on the glass and his eyes peered straight at me. I just felt his eyes on my skin.
You know, at that moment my mind was paralyzed with horror, but my body knew what to do. I pulled back from the window as in dream and ran to the wardrobe where I kept a box of ammunition. In ten seconds I returned back with loaded Remington. I did not care what would happen next. I inserted a ball-cartridge, locked it in, drew the bolt back, and directed the scope to the window. I saw waving curtains being tightly closed through the crosshairs.
That very day I left my lodgings. I paid the owner, he didn’t ask me any questions and I was thankful to him for it. I focused on the work and lived calmly several months. I began forgetting him. But sometimes he arises in my memory. I understood why he sat with his face to the wall – they sat him in such position. It was done specially for he couldn’t see other people. Who is he? I don’t know. Is he dangerous? Yes, he surely is.
Sometimes I see him in my dreams. He rags in my door and I watch him though the door viewer. My rifle misfires over and over…
I don’t like that he saw me that time. Am I afraid? I am armed and I can take care of myself, but I would lie if I said that I am not afraid.