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Never Look Out a Window at Night. 

I was always told not to look out a window at night, because you might not like what’s looking back at you. They call this kind of thing an old wives’ tale or something like that, but for me, it was just a bunch of silly crap, so I made a point to do the exact opposite.

Like most people my age, I guess I felt like I was spitting in the face of some outdated, half-assed logic, that some old person had come up with.

I mean who the hell goes around looking into peoples’ windows, am I right? And, since I didn’t believe in ghosts, monsters, demons, or whatever; I didn’t give that notion a thought either.

Sure, some of you’ll say there are nutcases that have been known to do this sort of thing, but I’ve always lived in a very nice neighborhood, so the likelihood of this happening was pretty slim, or so I’d thought.

One night, I got out of bed to make a late-night deposit in the porcelain bank. Once the transaction was complete, I washed up and was all set to head back to my room. As I turned the light off and closed the bathroom door, I decided I was feeling kinda parched, so I went to the kitchen for a drink instead.

Retrieving a glass from the cabinet, I opened the fridge and filled it with some tasty, cucumber-lime water I had made earlier, because who wants to drink *boring* tap water.

With my thirst now quenched, I sat the empty glass on the counter, and was about to leave the kitchen when I glanced up at the window.

“Might as well take a peek,” I said snidely as I walked over and looked out.

As usual, nothing was there, and feeling more than a bit smug, I turned to walk back to my bedroom, but then I stopped.

“What’s one more look-see gonna hurt?” I asked arrogantly.

Turning back, I returned to the window and looked out once more. The most horrible face I’d ever seen stared back at me.

It was pale white, and as I gaped at the horrifying thing, a wide, inhuman, smile spread across its visage. As if that wasn’t terrifying enough, the thing’s ghastly grin was filled to the brim with sharp, needle-like teeth.

Fighting down the urge to piss my undies, I tore myself away from the window with a scream, ran back to my room, and then jumped in bed before pulling the blankets over me. Still hysterical, I tried to purge my mind of what I had just seen, but the abomination’s ghoulish face was seared firmly into my brain.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered to myself when a semblance of sanity finally returned to me. No sooner had I asked the question, than I decided I did not want the answer. Instead, I tried to put it out of my mind and go back to sleep, but it took a long while for that to even happen.


The next morning, my parents asked me if I’d screamed in the night for some reason causing a fresh chill to run down my back. Not wanting to think about the previous evening’s fearful events, I shook my head and gave them some lame excuse about seeing my reflection in the window and how it had scared me. Content with this explanation, the two of them went back to their prior conversation, and there was no further discussion.

Later on, after much inner debate, I began to feel convinced that I had most likely imagined the whole thing in the first place. It had been the middle of the night, I was extremely tired, and my eyes were probably playing tricks on me. With this fresh perspective in mind, I went about my day; never giving the situation another thought.


That evening, my parents were out, and I found myself alone in the house working on college stuff. By the time I’d finished, it was getting late, and I was feeling famished.

“There’s a container of hummus and some artisan crackers with my name on them in the kitchen,” I told myself cheerfully.

Putting my course work away, off I went, and soon after, with my snack in hand, I started back to my room. As I passed the window, I stopped and glanced at it. I really didn’t want to look, but I refused to bow to superstition. It was 2020 after all, and I had a partial college education for crying out loud. My brain just wasn’t built like that.

Defiantly, I walked over to the window and looked out.


“See there,” I told myself haughtily. “Stuperstition is wrong again.”

I walked a few steps down the hall, turned around, and then went back to the window before looking out it once again.

The thing was there, smiling its evil smile. With horror descending upon me like a shroud, I dropped the hummus and crackers as I backed away from the window. My vocal cords wanted to scream, but my body was shuddering so badly that I couldn’t even make a sound.

The grinning terror on the other side of the glass raised a pale hand and waggled a long finger at me like a mother chastising her child.

Maybe through some unknown inner strength or just plain desperation—I pulled myself together long enough to flee to my room. Unfortunately, as I entered, I saw that the blinds on my two windows were open, and the hideous bastard stared sadistically at me from both of them. Without missing a beat, I ran back into the hall.

Feeling like it was my only chance, I entered the bathroom while slamming the door behind me. With fleeting sanity, I slumped down on the toilet with my head in my hands.

“Please just go away,” I begged through my sobs.

Hearing a tap from above me, I looked up at the small bathroom window. The grotesque thing was there too; smiling its ass off as it shook its head.

It wasn’t going to stop apparently.

Now reduced to a hopeless, quivering mess, I crawled into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. I existed there for the remainder of the night; sleep never coming to save me from my living nightmare. My parents found me there the next morning.

Hysterically, I tried to tell them what had happened, but they could only look at me like I was possibly crazy. Then, as I went through the house covering every window, they decided that most assuredly I was crazy, and made arrangements to admit me to this hospital.

It’s been a month since then, and despite a few rough days, initially—I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s really not that bad here. The doctors and nurses are super friendly, and very supportive. In fact, they even made sure I got a room without any windows, which has really helped my mental state. Things have been going so well, that a few days ago I got my cellphone back, minus a few pertinent apps, regrettably. But you know how it is. Baby steps.

With all this extra time on my hands, I’ve been thinking about the circumstances that led me to this point, and I’ve decided that maybe I was wrong. Old wives’ tales and superstitions are no joke. People back then knew way more about things that we folks living in the here and now, have chosen to ignorantly, forget.

So, if you’re reading this, DO NOT blow off the old ways. “THEY EXIST FOR A REASON”.

Now, that being said, there’s another saying I’ve heard that’s been on my mind lately, especially considering I have a mirror in my room.

It’s the one about the eyes being the windows to the soul.

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