Even now, I always close my eyes and hurry across the room whenever I have to walk past an uncovered window at night. I can’t tell you why I do this. I think I’m terrified of looking out the window and seeing a face pressed against the glass. Just looking back at me. I didn’t know where this fear came from until I recently spoke with my mom. There are things about my childhood that have long been abandoned by my conscious mind. I’m just now beginning to understand.
Dunkhert Missouri is a quintessential middle American suburban college town. My family made the three hour move here when my dad got hired as an associate professor of anthropology at Dunkherst community college. Most eight year olds would protest being torn away from their small worlds, but I was thrilled to get away from the urban hellscape that is St. Louis, and I didn’t have many friends to miss anyway. We unpacked our boxes into a two story house at the bottom of a quaint cul-de-sac neighborhood. I adamantly insisted that I was too old to share a bedroom with my younger brother. This meant I had to pick the downstairs room next to the basement, facing the woods behind our new backyard. I was too grown up to admit how unsettling that isolated room could be at night. The drowsy autumn air colored the woods a pale amber.
My parents dragged me away from my Storm Trooper action figures to introduce the family to the neighborhood. I stood behind my father as he introduced us to the Goldmans. My dad nudged me forward as he told Mr. Goldman “oh, I think our boys are the same age.” Mr. Goldman yelled upstairs “Peter, come meet the new neighbors!” I was flush with timid embarrassment. Their youngest son peaked his head out of the doorway and nervously exclaimed “Hi, I’m Pete!” Mr. Goldman invited us in, and our parents spoke about god knows what while Pete and I escaped upstairs to play with his ninja turtle action figures.
School started much later in this district, so Pete and I would fill our days by making stick forts by the creek in the woods behind my house. I found two perfect sticks to use as nun chucks when we played ninja turtles. One day Pete suggested that we have a lightsaber battle at Mad Martins tent. I stared at him, “who’s Mad Martin?” Pete replied “Really? Your parents haven’t told you about Mad Martin? Everyone knows about him.” Pete continued, “if you play in the woods at night, Mad Martin will give you a fright.” “Give you a fright? What is that?” Pete let out a yawn as he explained. “A fright? Like he’ll scare you.” “But then what happens?” Pete swung his lightsaber stick through the air as he spoke “I dunno, you die.” Pete led me through a dirt path that led to an abandoned tent in the woods. “Mad Martin lives here?” I asked timidly. “Yep, but only at night.” We went home when the sky began to darken.
One night I woke up in my bed with the overwhelming need to pee. The journey to my light switch filled me with unspeakable dread. I’d imagine Mad Martin standing in the corner of my room, just staring at me with glowing red eyes. When I flipped the switch, I was relieved to find there was not, in fact, a deranged killer standing by my window. After I hurried across the hall to relieve myself, I quickly ran into bed and hid under the blankets. For some reason I believed Mad Martin didn’t have the ability to lift up my covers. As I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard a slight tapping against my window.
It just repeated. Tap tap tap. There was no way that I was going to open the curtains to see what it was. I just pulled the blanket over my head and squeezed my eyes closed until sleep delivered me into the morning. I told my mom about the tapping during breakfast. She poured my younger brother some orange juice as she tried to calm me. “It’s probably just the wind pushing the bushes against your window.” “Yeah, but what if it’s Mad Martin?” My mom showed me a slight smile. “Oh, is Pete telling you scary stories, those are so much fun.” I wasn’t having fun. Only now did it dawn on me. The bush in our backyard was about four feet from my window.
Pete and I ran off into the woods that day to find the ideal tree to make the ultimate tree house. It was going to be a fortress for us to create the best two person super hero league. I told Pete about the tapping. His face turned a ghostly white. “Mad Martin, he taps on your window too.” To this day the thought still makes me nauseous. “So what happens now?” Peter gazed at the ground as he whispered “don’t talk to him, don’t let him inside.” After that I slept with the covers pulled over my face. I heard the tapping again that night. It was getting louder, more aggressive. I just closed my eyes and cried on my pillow. I told my parents about the tapping the next morning. My mom looked a little bothered. She turned to my dad and asked if he would trim the bush. “Yes honey” he exclaimed between sips of his coffee. That day Pete and I returned to the tree we picked out for our base. I was disappointed to find my nun chucks weren’t where I left them.
That night I didn’t hear the tapping again. I was so relieved to find that my mom was right. I almost felt silly for getting so scared by the tapping. After all, I was too old to get scared by ghost stories. Our downstairs area had a basement, my room, and a living room with two glass sliding doors. As I was drifting into sleep, I heard the chilling squeak of the sliding door opening. I just laid there, petrified. I couldn’t even tolerate the thought of opening my eyes. That’s when I heard it, a faint knocking on my bedroom door. I was desperately hoping it was my dad. I desperately hung on to Pete’s words. “Don’t talk to him, don’t let him inside.” I didn’t tell my parents about the knocking. My eight year old self reasoned that they wouldn’t believe me. The glass door was shut in the morning, but I was horrified to find it unlocked. Pete and I decided to go back to Mad Martin’s tent. I can’t fully explain the reason for this, but I think we just wanted to find it empty. To see it in the daylight to calm our nerves. It had the opposite effect. All we found was an old sleeping bag, and my nunchucks. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Whatever this was, it wanted me here. Pete put his hand on my shoulder. “We should go.” We both simply knew that we didn’t want to play in the woods anymore. We went to Pete’s house to watch old cartoons. To distract ourselves from whatever has been tapping at night. When I came home I found my baby brother sprawled across the couch with some paper and some crayons. He was drawing a picture of a man tucking him into bed. I told him he was too old to have dad tucking him into bed. He gave me a confused look and went back to drawing. I turned my bedroom lamp on, and double checked that all the doors were locked before I went to bed. A few minutes after my head rested on my pillow, a terrifying thought occurred to me. I forgot to check if I closed the curtains. I peaked my head out of my blankets and layed there frozen. The curtains were open. I saw a pale disheveled man’s face pressed against my window. He stood there, staring into my eyes with no emotion. He tapped on the window. “Let me in.”