Fifteen years ago, my parents moved to Wyoming.
This was a big change, coming from California. As a ten-year-old, I felt sad and almost betrayed. Everything I had back in the state of dreams was now gone.
Overall, Wyoming wasn't the most pleasant sight. Just flat fields of dead grass and some cows here and there. The town, on the other hand, was pretty nice. Unpacking was a pain, but we managed. Some of the townsfolk were nice enough to help us out, which made the job a whole lot easier. When Mom showed me to my room, my expectations were pretty low. But not this low.
The walls were brownish-white, some parts peeled off completely. The floor was made up of wooden planks with some pieces of carpet left in the corners of the room and the roof wasn't any different from the walls, just more brownish-white paint.
There was also a window.
There was almost something sinister about it.
It was perfectly in the center of the wall, facing toward the door.
It was the only thing in that room that seemed to be taken care of. It was about four feet tall, and three feet wide. The frame was crystal clean, there was nothing wrong about the glass itself at all. It was perfect. Too perfect.
My room was on the first floor, and it was completely desolate behind the glass. All I could see was the sky and the dead grass. There was nothing else in sight.
Once we were done unpacking, the sky was dark blue.
The three townsfolk who helped us said their goodbyes and walked off. My mom tried to pay them for their services, but they declined the offer. They were genuinely nice people, which gave me ease. For a while.
The smile that I was wearing as I walked toward my room deteriorated into a face of hesitation, and fear.
It was 9:30 PM.
All I could see was the black sky and the dead grass below it. It seemed so unnatural to me. The window perfectly displayed the sight. I absolutely hated it, but I didn't want to annoy my parents so late at night, so I just simply attempted to ignore it.
That night, I turned off the light and laid down in bed.
I couldn't sleep.
The grass wasn't even moving.
There were no stars, just pure darkness.
I couldn't stop looking at that fucking window.
I would've just lowered the blinds.
If there were any.
It was 2:30 AM, and I was already on the brink of passing out.
I was finally asleep.
I remember the dream I had that night. I was in the middle of a grass field. The grass was similar to the grass... outside of my window. I was staring into the darkness, as if I was waiting for someone. Nothing but absolute silence. I didn't even hear the sound of my own breath. The world was completely blank.
I heard something. At first it was distorted, something I couldn't comprehend. Trying to understand what it was, I soon realized that the noises were coming closer. Very slowly. The distortion soon became easier to specify. These weren't sounds of nature, these were sounds of someone walking in my direction.
The brown grass crunched beneath their feet. It got louder and louder; it became almost deafening. I was left in a state of despair. Until it came to a sudden end, an abrupt burst of silence.
My eyes opened and all I could see was the window. I was still in fear, but I felt a small amount of relief after. I felt safety in the comfort of my new home. After a minute of stretching, as I turned my head to my alarm clock, I heard a crunch. I was silent as I looked outside. I didn't know what to expect. I heard another crunch, and then another. The crunching didn't stop.
It faded in from the darkness.
It was a living, breathing nightmare. The sight. It was unexplainable. My mind shattered, my voice deteriorated. The mere idea even burns a hole in my thoughts. "Her"---if I can even call it that---figure was that of a broken monster. She was hunched over, her eyes, big as fists, were white tainted with red. They were not blue, green, nor brown. There was simply no color. Just a black pupil in the center surrounded by red streaks as if she never slept a day in her life. She was basically bald. There were a few strands of black hairs left on her head. The skin on her bones was rotting, the color, black as the darkness of the air that surrounded her.
I couldn't scream.
I couldn't think.
I couldn't do anything.
We just looked at each other.
It took minutes before she broke the silence.
She let out an ear-piercing scream before she started slamming her head against the window. The glass was cracking, blood splatting everywhere as she bashed her forehead over and over. Her screams were blood-curdling, she sounded like she was in excruciating pain. I was hopeless, frozen in shock.
The door busted open, and the lights turned on. "What the hell is going on here!?"
I was curled up on my bed, looking at the window's broken structure. The glass was almost broken entirely. When I told my dad about the story, he didn't believe me. My mom, on the other hand, argued with my dad about moving. My dad listened to my mom and we moved once again. It took one night.
To this day, I still don't know what would've happened if she came in. I want to keep it that way.
Written by John Storyman