The Window Across the Street

The First Glimpse

It started with the curtains.

They were always drawn - except at night.

Every evening around 9:30, the light in the apartment across the street would flicker on, and the curtains would part just enough to reveal a slice of life inside.

A man, mid-thirties maybe, with a habit of pacing back and forth as he talked on the phone. Sometimes he laughed, other times he yelled. I never meant to watch, not really. But the window faced mine directly, and curiosity is a quiet, dangerous thing.

For weeks, I convinced myself it was harmless — a flicker of passing interest in the stranger across the street. Until the night he waved.

The Wave

It was a small gesture, almost polite. He looked up mid-call, noticed me by my own window, and lifted his hand with a faint smile. I froze. My fingers twitched to wave back, but something about the stillness of his expression made me hesitate.

After that, the routine changed.

The light came on earlier. He started opening the curtains wider. Sometimes he just stood there, motionless, as if waiting for me to appear. I told myself it was coincidence - he couldn’t know I was watching.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure.

The Journal

I started keeping notes - a journal of sorts.

9:32 p.m.: pacing.

9:47 p.m.: standing still, facing window.

10:10 p.m.: lights off.

It became a ritual. I didn’t tell anyone - not my sister, not my friends - because I knew what they’d think.

Then one night, he wasn’t there. The window stayed dark.

I told myself it didn’t matter, but the truth is, I couldn’t sleep. The next evening, I found myself staring again - waiting, without knowing why.

When the light finally came back on, relief washed over me… until I saw it.

My name.

Written in bold, black marker across a sheet of paper taped to the inside of his window.

The Name

At first, I thought it was some horrible coincidence. Maybe someone else in the building shared my name. But then I realized - it wasn’t just my name. It was my full name.

I stumbled back from the glass. How could he possibly know that? I never met him. Never spoke to him.

I closed my blinds that night and left them shut. But even with the window covered, I felt watched.

Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow across the wall - I imagined his eyes following me through the dark.

The Knock

Two days later, there was a knock on my door.

Three slow, deliberate raps.

I froze. The sound echoed through the apartment. I told myself not to answer - but something in me couldn’t help it. I opened the door just a crack.

No one was there.

But taped to the doorframe was another sheet of paper.

The same handwriting.

The same black marker.

It read:

“Why did you stop watching?”

The Police

I went to the police the next morning. They listened politely, took a few notes, and promised to “look into it.”

One officer, a kind woman with tired eyes, offered to stop by that evening. When she did, the lights across the street were off. The apartment looked empty.

She peered through her binoculars and frowned. “That unit’s been vacant for months,” she said. “We had a fire there last winter - it’s uninhabitable.”

My stomach turned cold.

“I see the light every night,” I told her.

She shook her head. “There’s no power in that building.”

The Last Night

That night, I sat by the window again - not to watch, but to prove something to myself. To convince my mind that what I’d seen was impossible.

At exactly 9:30, the light flickered on.

The curtains parted.

And there he was.

Standing at the window, smiling.

This time, he held up a piece of paper that read:

“Look behind you.”

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

The sound came next - the faint creak of the floorboards, coming from inside my apartment.

When I finally turned, the window was empty.

The light across the street was gone.

And so was the officer’s card I’d left on the table.

Aftermath

They found my journal days later, entries ending abruptly mid-sentence. The neighbors said they hadn’t seen me in a week.

The apartment across the street?

Still vacant. Still burned out from the inside.

Sometimes, late at night, the new tenants swear they see a faint glow in the window.

A figure pacing.

And if you look close enough -

You might see him wave.