As far back as I can remember, it has been there. Always watching, terrifying me. Even when enough time would pass and I would think I was finally free, it would return.
My first memory, when I was four, is the terrified feeling of being watched, while my brother and I played in the backyard at dusk. There was rustling in the bushes by the fence and the face that peered out at me was like a nightmare. It had no hair, the skin stretched so thin it was almost transparent. A thin, long smile that stretched up to the dark sunken eyes. I screamed in terror, and then it was gone.
I tried, through my tears, to convince my brother that someone was there but he didn’t see anything. My parents chalked it up to childhood imagination, but that’s when the nightmares began.
I would be sleeping in bed, the sounds of a mighty storm raining down upon me. The window would creak open, just a crack at first and then slowly sliding up. The tall, dark figure with the long, thin smile would be there, staring at me. I would scream out over and over, but nobody could hear me. Suddenly the figure would be next to my bed, long fingers reaching out to grab me.
I had this dream every week, to the point that I was sent to a psychologist. She was a welcome change in my life, giving me the chance to tell my story without being mocked.
When I was 8, I was hanging out at Jonathan’s house. I was supposed to be home before dark, but time has a way of getting away from me. I was hurriedly riding my bike home when the sun set. There was a tree line on the west side of the street, the side of the street that I was riding.
The whistling began softly, getting louder and louder until it was so loud that I covered my ears to stop the pain, crashing my bike into the base of a large oak. I looked just behind me and saw a face peering out from behind another tree, the same face that has haunted my nightmares. Fear brought me to my feet and I was running as fast as I could go, not caring about my mangled bike.
I told my parents I was being followed and crashed my bike. The police took my statement about the tall, skinny man with the long, thin smile.
The nightmares stopped after that. Years passed and I became convinced that I was followed by a man, and that my imagination made it more than what it was; a pervert with a thing for small children. That is, until my 15th birthday.
It was summer break and I remember the hot, humid air that surrounded us was overwhelming. My parents had rented a cabin by the lake for family and some of my friends. My parents got cake and my friend’s and I had a blast talking and swimming in the lake. After everyone went to bed, I stayed up a little longer listening to the crickets. It was so peaceful as I drifted off to sleep.
The next thing I know I am standing just outside the forest on the other side of the lake from the cabin. Was I dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but how did I get here? I had never been a sleepwalker, and it would’ve taken me at least two hours to walk all this way. I suddenly realized I was dripping wet, had I been in the lake?
That’s when I heard it, a faint whistling on the wind, it seemed so familiar. I tried to run but was just too tired, the exhaustion getting worse by the second. I opted for a brisk walk in the direction of the lake. At least the moonlight reflecting off the water would light my immediate surroundings. I had to get back to the cabin.
I made my way around the closest side of the lake for the next hour or so, falling in the darkness several times. I only had about a mile left of my trek and dawn would be coming soon. The whistling didn’t follow me, but I began to feel a heaviness in my chest, like gravity had increased 10 times and I was being crushed.
As I lumbered through a muddy patch of ground with small hills and deep holes, I heard a gargled sound coming from the water right next to me. I stumbled to my knees as I looked over. In the moonlight I saw a head poking out of the water, just a few feet from the shore, the face smiling that familiar long, thin smile that haunted me so badly as a child. It peered at me for a moment before slowly sliding under the water. I moved away as fast as I could, choking back tears. All I wanted to do was lay down and cry. Who or what is this thing following me?
When I finally made it back to the cabin I showered and went to bed, telling everyone I was feeling sick. I didn’t want to tell them what happened. I knew they wouldn’t believe me, I wasn’t even sure if I believed me.
I had the same nightmares again after that. The rain, the thunder, the face coming into my room lit up by lightning, the thin smile that stretched on forever. I was always scared, always looking over my shoulder. Every time I heard a whistle, I would lose my breath. Again, time went on without incident.
I am 26 now and living on my own. As I sit by my bedroom window and write this, the rain is pounding against the house. Every few minutes the lightning illuminates my yard; the fence line, the grass, the bushes, the trees, and the stretched face that peers out from behind them. The long, thin smile directed at me. I don’t know who, or what, has been watching me all these years, but I am tired of looking over my shoulder. I’m tired of not knowing, tired of being afraid. There’s only one thing left to do.
I will open my window tonight..