The Watcher

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Ice-cold fingers of dread clutched at my heart as his face pressed against the window…watching.

Oily smears trailed onto the glass from his forehead and an evil, psychotic grin manifested across his lips. Emotionless eyes tortured me as his face pressed against the window…watching.

His demented grin increased. The sick bastard was reveling in my torment – my wife was upstairs, resting, and our newborn daughter lay sleeping in a crib beside her. I had to get back inside my house, had to protect my family, but my body was petrified with fear as his face pressed against the window…watching.

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