Okay, fuck, I guess I’ll give this a shot. I don’t know what to do, guys, so I’m gonna turn to you. I don’t think this is a situation anyone can really help me with, but I thought that I’d give it a shot.
There’s a man on my balcony.
Maybe I should give a bit more detail. I just moved into my place a week ago, and, up until now, I’ve been super excited to come here. This is my first real job; I’ve spent the last few years screwing around with all kinds of crap, working jobs for little pay. I was in school to write, and I finally got a job that allows me to do that! I didn’t even mind moving for it.
I mean, sure, I came to this city knowing that it would expensive as all-hell, but I still didn’t know exactly how much it would cost. When I finally saw the prices, I knew that I’d be lucky to find a closet to live in. Unless your name ends in Rowling, King, or Martin, good luck making enough money as a writer to live well in a big city. But I didn’t care. It didn’t matter, because I had a job that I loved. I had purpose, goddammit! Until last night.
You see, I was finally able to find a place that was cheap AND big enough to serve my purposes. It’s basically just a bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom, with no real living space, but at least it’s mine. By far the coolest part of the whole set-up is the sliding door that’s just to the right-hand side of my bed. It leads to this balcony that looks out upon the city. It’s not the greatest angle, but it’s sixteen stories up, so the height helps. I was happy.
But again, only until last night.
Do you know the moments when you’re lying in bed, struggling to sleep? At the time of night when your mind seems to be able to see anything as possible, when you look at the corner, and you start to wonder: is there someone in the fucking corner? Usually you fall asleep during these moments, but unfortunately, I didn’t. Instead, my eyes happened to glance out at the balcony, which was silhouetted in the moonlight.
There was a man standing there. He was tall and dressed in a ragged formal outfit. Not a suit exactly, but a pants/shirt combo that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a fancy restaurant. Shit, it’s weird what you remember when you’re scared. He wasn’t looking at me. He was just walking back and forth along the length of the balcony. I couldn’t see his face, though. Even though the moon was out, it never seemed to catch his face. Every once in a while he would lean against the railing, as if he was trying to take in the view.
My door was locked. There was no other way to the balcony than through the apartment. I’m on the corner, so it’s not even like a neighbour could have jumped over. All I know is that I watched this guy pace along the length of the balcony for the better part of twenty minutes before it occurred to me that I didn’t know what I would do if he turned around to look at me. All I know is that I really, really did not want that to happen.
So I did something I’m actually a little ashamed of. I dove under my covers, hiding there like a toddler who’s afraid of the boogeyman. This helped to allay my fears for a few seconds, until I realized that I could hear him. I could hear his footsteps on the balcony. I could hear the faint creak of the metal underneath his shoe. It was almost like the balcony was moaning as he walked back and forth, over and over and over.
This sound felt like it was pressing on my chest with every step, but somehow I managed to fall asleep. It might’ve been some mix of exhaustion and terror. I woke up today, sun shining, with the balcony completely empty.
That’s not to say that there was no sign of my visitor, though. You know when you read people describing their legs as being “like rubber?” Well, my legs pretty much melted when I saw it, collapsing me onto my bed.
There were handprints on the glass. On the outside of the glass. As if someone had been pressing their face against it, peering in.
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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