The Thing Behind the Window

It started on a rainy Tuesday night.

I was up late studying for my history test, trying not to fall asleep at my desk. Everyone else in the house had gone to bed. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the occasional rumble of thunder outside.

And then I heard it.

A soft tap. Tap… tap… tap.

It came from my window.

I live on the second floor. That’s the part that still gives me chills.

I paused my music and listened again, assuming it was just a tree branch swaying in the storm. But there are no trees that close to the house. I got up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtain aside.

Nothing. Just rain. Just night.

I laughed nervously and sat back down. Five minutes later, the tapping came again—this time faster, like fingers drumming urgently on the glass.

I didn’t check the window again. I just turned off the light and climbed into bed, pretending I didn’t hear it.

The next night, it happened again. Same time. Same window.

But this time, when I looked, I saw something.

Not a face exactly—but a shape. A shadow. Thin and long, with white eyes that seemed to glow through the darkness. It disappeared before I could scream.

I told my parents the next morning. They laughed it off. “Probably a trick of the light,” Dad said. “You’ve been watching too many scary videos.”

I wasn’t convinced. So I set up my phone on the window sill the following night, recording just in case.

And what I saw the next morning? That’s when everything changed.

The video showed me sleeping. Normal. Quiet.

Until 2:13 a.m.

Suddenly, a pale face pressed up against the glass. Hollow cheeks. Black, cracked lips. And those glowing white eyes. It just stood there, watching me. Not moving. Not blinking.

And then—it smiled.

I didn’t go to school that day.

We called the police. They found nothing—no fingerprints, no ladder, no sign anyone had been there. They left us with the same explanation. “Probably a prank. Maybe a reflection. Keep your curtains closed.”

I stopped sleeping in that room.

We even switched rooms—my little brother and I. But on the very first night in his new room, he came running into ours, crying.

“There’s something at the window,” he whispered.

Now we were all scared. My mom believed us. My dad started locking all the windows every night, double-checking them like his life depended on it.

And still… it came.

It didn’t matter whose room it was. It would find a window. Just after 2 a.m., the tapping would start. Then the smiling. Then the staring.

We moved.

A whole new house. A new town.

For two months, everything was normal. No sounds. No shadows. No glowing eyes.

But last night… it came back.

This time, it wasn’t outside the window.

It was inside the house.

I saw the reflection in the hallway mirror as I turned off the kitchen light—white eyes behind me.

It doesn’t care where we live.

It doesn’t knock anymore.

It just watches.

And waits.