I’ve been drawing ever since I was old enough to hold a pencil. I won’t lie and say that I was a prodigy, or that I’ve always been good at it, because I’m proud at how far I’ve come. Even when all I could manage were string bean people with hands and heads disproportionate to their bodies, I was still having the time of my life. I would spend hours and hours cooped up in my room, notebooks and sketch pads littered all around me as I whiddled away the time with a pencil. There’s something about the way the paper feels against my hand as I bring something from my imagination to life; Well, I used to enjoy that feeling, anyway.
I recently left the big city that I had grown up in and moved to a very small, rural town for work. I admired the tall trees as I drove down the gravel road; I would have to put these on paper once I got settled in. I pulled into the driveway of the small, one-bedroom yellow house that I was going to be renting. It wasn’t my first time seeing it, of course; I had been given a tour and immediately became enamored with it. It provided great lighting and had a certain old-school charm to it. I was ready to focus not only on work, but also on my doodles now that I was finally leagues away from the madness of the city.
As I was grabbing the luggage from my trunk, a hand suddenly clasped down on my shoulder.
“Shit fuck!” I dropped my things and stumbled backwards, tripping over one of my boxes. A tall, gangly old man wearing a torn gray shirt and dirty jeans was standing over me looking amused. His lank gray hair flowed over his shoulders, and his eyes, slightly unsettling, seemed to stare directly into my soul.
“Hey, neighbor. I didn’t mean to startle ya. Name’s Brian. Ya need help getting some of this stuff inside?”
My face flushed, I pushed myself up and brushed off my jeans. “Yeah, sure, man. Nice to meet you. I’m Dion.”
I offered a hand but the old man was already grabbing my stuff. After a few trips we were nearly done; But when my notepad fell out of one of my boxes, landing open on the floor, Brian glanced curiously at it. “What do we have here?” It was a drawing of a woman, lying prone on a bed, nude, facing the other direction, where a great window displayed the deepest of oceans.
“Oh, that’s just uh, some of my work.”
Brian grinned. “We got us an artist in town now, huh? You got real talent, my boy. Well you let me know if you need anything, Dion. I’m just across the road.”
“Sure thing, sir. Thanks for the help.”
I spent the next couple of days unpacking and settling in. One night, though I was nearly exhausted, I felt a sudden burst of creativity spring up with me like a great flame. I whipped out my notepad, grabbed a pencil, found a spot by my open bedroom window, and got to work. Fueled by my obsession with my new home, I slowly sketched the house, then started the harder task of drawing what I imagined to be a soft drizzle. My weariness must have gotten the best of me, however, because next thing I knew I was lying in bed, surrounded by absolute darkness. Far away, but slowly approaching, was a neon violet figure that I somehow knew was a woman. I wanted her; I sat up in the bed, my eyes refusing to blink, refusing to give up even a half-second of gazing upon this beauty…
And then I felt the raindrops, heard the thunder that rattled the house like a giant’s roar. I sat up, looking around groggily. I was still at my desk by the window; It was pitch black outside, however, and storming. I reached over, closed my window, and was beginning to get up when I noticed the drawing that I had been working on. There was heavy rainfall, depicted by slanting lines cascading all around the house. Had I drawn this? I had no memory of it, but maybe I was just tired. I looked closer at the sketch and could see something…was it a person?…drawn kneeling on top of the house. The lights flickered and there was lightning outside. Feeling a slight chill, I turned out the lights and got into bed.
The next couple of days passed without incident. Brian invited me over one night for a beer, and the two of us sat in his livingroom, playing card games.
“You smoke, Dion?” he asked, taking a swig from his can.
“No thanks, I don’t like tobacco.”
“Tobacco? No, I’m talking about that good shit.” He held up a blunt, and I grinned.
“Now we’re talking!”
We had passed it twice among us when there was a motion behind me. I spun around, watching as a round-faced, kind-looking woman walked into the house carrying a large box of pizza.
“Oh dear! You didn’t tell me we were having company!”
“Ah, slipped my mind. Dion this is my wife, Hera. Hera, our new neighbor, Dion.”
“Hi!” I grinned, feeling the effects of the weed already. Brian hadn’t lied to me; This was some good shit.
“I hope you like pepperoni, Dion!” she sang, and Brian and I both lunged out of our seats.
Later that night I trudged across the street, back to my house. How lucky was I to have neighbors so inviting and kind? I just knew that I was really going to love living out here. In a great mood, I sat down and put pen to paper again. Having been impressed by the pizza that Hera had brought for us, I began drawing a large, square box lying on a table. The marijuana had taken full control, however, and I found myself drifting off to dreamland again.
I woke to the smell of what was undoubtedly fresh food in my house. The sun was peeking in through my curtains, and I wiped my eyes before slowly sticking my head out of my bedroom. “Uh…somebody there?” I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hear a response or not.
There was silence. I gathered my courage and walked slowly over to the kitchen. You can guess what was on the table. A big, square brown box.
I didn’t draw for a few days after that. I eventually convinced myself that I had brought the pizza home from Brian’s; I had just been too high or drunk to remember it. I focused on work but my nights were restless; I found myself waking up from my dreams far too often in a cold sweat, having seen the slim neon figure coming closer and closer.
I wanted to draw her, transfer her image from my mind to my notebook, but found myself too frightened to do so. Instead I sat staring out of my window at a crow, watching it as it watched me. I had been itching to draw for a while and grabbed a pencil and got to work. I drew the window and was just getting to work on the bird’s wings when I heard my doorbell. I got up and, upon answering the door, found no one there. I stepped outside and looked all around; Brian’s truck wasn’t in his driveway, so it couldn’t have been him. I didn’t see anyone in the yards of the other two houses on the street. I looked at my porch railing and saw the crow, it’s black eyes on me as it tilted it’s head.
“That wasn’t you ringing my doorbell, was it?” I asked, unable to hide a smile. Birds had always been my favorite animal. I went back into the house, grabbed a bowl of water and some nuts, and returned to my little winged friend. I watched him eat for a while, before realizing that I was hungry myself. I bid him farewell and closed my door before heading to the kitchen.
I woke a few hours later, laid back in my recliner. It was dark outside now, and my paper plate had fallen down to the floor next to me. Why had I woken? I relaxed the recliner and sat up, straining my ears. Was that…tapping? I stood up, making my way to the hall. Yes, it was definitely tapping; By the sound of it, it was coming from my bedroom. A great sense of unease fell over me as I slowly approached my bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. What the hell was that? I reached the door and put my hand against it, sighed, and then pushed it open roughly. Nothing. Just a dark room, the curtains drawn over the window. The window that was currently being tapped on like there was no tomorrow.
Judging by the vigorous consistency of the taps, I could tell that it was something large. Was there a person out there? Were Brian or Hera trying to get my attention? That didn’t make any sense…it had to be nearly midnight and I had a door, after all. I decided that I was going to stop being a chicken shit and peek behind the curtain. Maybe whoever was tapping on my glass was the same person who had rang my doorbell earlier.
I was just beginning to reach for the curtain when I noticed the drawing that I had started work on earlier that day. Only now it was completely finished. The window I had drawn was still there; But rather than the crow I had begun to sketch, a different winged creature had been drawn outside the window. A creature the size of a man, with large, scaly wings, two bulbous, disgusting horned heads, and two strong arms, one of which was reaching out for the window with six long, sharp claws.