Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-30959528-20170716195837

It started with rustling in the bushes. Then it evolved into spinach leaves disappearing off of my plants. It wasn’t long before I had to replant. Then I heard small taps at his window. Small, soft, gentle taps. It gave him the chills. My daughter, Mariana, got creeped out also. She didn’t feel comfortable alone in her room, and resorted to sleeping with me dad in my room. It was a bit awkward at the age of 9, but, it was better than in her room, right?

The new streetlights installed out of my window were oddly relaxing. It became easier to sleep. A few days later, they disappeared. It was strange, so, I checked it out. I arrived to where the streetlights used to be. No odd fresh new concrete fillings. What the hell was going on? I called a friend, Tripp, to see what he thought about the situation, and he said that I must have been imagining them. No. Not for four straight days. He must’ve thought I was on heroin or some other recreational substance. He asked if I heard the streetlights being installed, and I said no. That’s when it hit me.

I can’t explain the feeling I felt. I felt like I wanted to throw up, but I also felt like I wanted to kill the guy. Me and Mariana were being watched. We were watched through the window four nights in a row.

That night, I slept with the blinds shut, the lights on, the TV loudly streaming an episode of South Park, and Mariana by my side. I assured her that she was safe with her dad.

At some point in the middle of the night, I woke up abruptly, immediately knowing in every part of my head that something was wrong. Maybe I heard something, I don’t know. What immediately scared me was that the light was no longer on, and the TV was switched off. I turned on the lamp by my bed, and screamed at the top of my lungs.

I grabbed Mariana and slammed the bedroom door shut. She asked what was wrong, and I told her that there was a man with an evil smile on his face staring at us by the edge of my bed. I had to get out of that house.

I held Mariana’s hand tight and ran down the stairs, slamming the door shut. I ran for what felt like miles until I found Tripp’s house.

“What the hell? What’s going on?” he asked.

I explained everything. Tripp called the police, and they arrived to find nothing unusual going on in our house. I moved out of that house a week later, and during that week Tripp allowed us to stay at his place. I now sleep with Mariana with a chair barricading the door, the lights on, the blinds shut, and the windows locked. 