I remember that night like it was yesterday, even though it happened many years ago. I was a college student then, living in a small apartment in a not-so-great part of town. It was a hot summer night, and I had the window open to try and get some fresh air.
I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone when I heard a noise. It sounded like something had knocked over a trash can outside, and I could hear shuffling footsteps. I figured it was just some homeless person looking for something to eat, so I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep.
But the noise didn’t stop. In fact, it seemed to be getting louder. I heard someone or something moving around outside my window. I got out of bed and went to the window to see what was going on.
At first, I couldn’t see anything. It was too dark outside. But then I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone was standing just beyond the streetlamp’s light. It was a man, and he was staring right at me.
I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to scream, but my throat was dry. I tried to back away from the window, but my legs wouldn’t move. The man just stood there, staring at me, his eyes glowing in the dark.
Suddenly, he started moving towards me. I could see now that he was carrying something in his hand. It was long and thin, and it glinted in the light of the streetlamp. It was a knife.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The man was almost at my window now. I could see his face, twisted in a cruel smile. I was sure I was going to die.
But then something strange happened. The man stopped in his tracks, as if he’d been frozen in place. His smile turned into a look of confusion, and then fear. He dropped the knife and backed away from my window, his eyes still fixed on me.
I was too scared to move, too scared to do anything. I just stood there, watching as the man disappeared into the darkness.
The next day, I went to the police and reported what had happened. They didn’t take me seriously at first, but then I showed them the knife the man had dropped. It turned out to be a murder weapon from a crime committed several blocks away.
The police never caught the man who had been standing outside my window, but I never forgot what happened. For years, I slept with my windows closed and locked, afraid that someone would come for me again.
It wasn’t until many years later, when I was going through some old newspapers, that I found out the truth. The man who had been outside my window that night wasn’t trying to kill me. He was trying to warn me.
The real killer had been someone I knew, someone I had considered a friend. The man outside my window had seen him leaving my apartment building the night of the murder, and he knew that he was planning to come back for me. He had tried to warn me, but I had been too scared to listen.
I felt a strange mix of relief and regret. If only I had listened to that man, I could have avoided years of fear and anxiety. But now, it was too late. The killer had never been caught, and I would never know if he was still out there, waiting to strike again.