010 - The Face at the Window

The main body of an email, which had two photos attached: the photos have since been stitched into one single image. — Ed.

I didn’t even realise it was so widespread in Glasgow. I thought I was the only one it had happened to. But if, like you say, other people have seen the same thing, I want them to know that they’re not the only ones.

I was sitting in my living room at about four or five in the afternoon. It wasn’t dark, but there was something in the air… I kept getting that shiver you get all over your arms and back when there’s something weird on your mind, you know? Like when you’ve started to scare yourself into thinking that a stranger’s in your house, or that you’re being watched. I thought it was just cabin fever from being in the house all day. I got up from the couch, turned towards the kitchen, and caught sight of something at the window.

Eyes looking in. That’s what I remember. A face up looking at me through my window. It looked like it was screaming, but there was no sound. I could actually feel my heartbeat all over me like I was hearing it. I felt my blood in every part of my body, and it hurt. It throbbed. A screaming face at the window, dead, white eyes focused on mine. Its mouth agape, as though seeing something awful in my eyes. I feel it screaming through my blood, burning up in my eyes and face.

Then it was gone. I don’t know how. I didn’t see it move. I started to have a panic attack, I wondered if I’d blacked out and it got inside my house. In a way it was – I couldn’t move about the house without thinking about it appearing somewhere else. My bedroom window at night, just as I go to close the curtains. In the shadows of the cupboard. Staring through the hinge of the kitchen door. Through the peephole of my front door. I freaked out, searched every bit of the house, but I never found it.

It doesn’t matter though – you only need to see it once, and it stays with you. I think I’ve seen it since. I can’t tell anymore. As soon as I start to see something at the window, I see the white of the eyes, the dark hole of the screaming mouth. I can’t stop seeing it, even when I close my eyes. It’s everywhere without being anywhere.

I keep thinking about the face. I don’t even remember a body. I don’t remember what it looks like. I keep thinking that I might see the face again in the street, the face of a passerby locking eyes with me and starting that silent scream. Sometimes when I dream, I dream about waking up and seeing it in my room. In the worst nightmares, it talks to me. It tells me it lives in my neighbour’s houses, it watches me from their windows, and it starts to tell me things about them. It tells me things I couldn’t ever know. Little secrets, little stories, little facts they wouldn’t tell anyone. And then they always turn out to be right. What is that? What does that even mean?

What if there are more, and all my neighbours have seen it? What if we all know each other’s secrets, but we’re too scared to say anything?

Tell everyone who’s seen it that I know what they’re going through. I can’t help. I can’t even help myself. But I know.

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