The Window

*Creak*

The old staircase had become noisier lately. Going down on it was like playing an old out of tune piano. Creak - Clap - Clap - Creak - Clap… It was a dull melody, but once that announced my arrival home.

The small basement appears older than the building itself. It lies at the end of a dark stairway lit by ancient lightbulbs, a black, heavy, oily door marking the entrance. The air is dense and moist, almost like a catacomb, but with time I came to appreciate its presence. I used to hate the smell but now, it\'s a weird embrace.

The oily black door is an impenetrable guardian. Armored in old bronze details, it has a faint air of elegance of days long past. I insert the key and after a resounding CLACK I push it open — like moving a stone wall. At least no one enters without the key.

I finally enter my home. A practical place. Single bed, wooden table, three chairs, small bathroom, one old stove next to the fridge. A lonely lightbulb on the ceiling and my only window. Decorations are unnecessary.

I do appreciate the natural light entering through the small window, casting heavy shadows on my apartment. It is more of a screen than a window, it can\'t be opened but it allows a clear floor-level view of the street. Cars rushing, people walking, dogs wandering, and that old homeless man that sits on the other side of the street. He stays still everyday yet it always seems to be looking at the window, or at me.

The busy street makes the light coming through the window flicker with shadows, moving in a macabre dance. I turn on the lightbulb to kill the shadow puppets.

***

Dinner was unsavory. Chicken loses its taste after a couple of days in the cold. Maybe tomorrow I\'ll get more food, but I\'m too tired to go out again.

After dinner I sit down with a book, my keys on the table. A short novel about a man raising a horse. The prose is colorful but the details are unnerving.

The man in the story talks about the horse in a strange way, not with caring or admiration, but relishing in his eventual withering. It describes how its hooves will crack, how his knees will become fragile and how his teeth will rot and fall. Eventually, the man stops feeding it and watches it going around in circles aimlessly, waiting like a vulture for his death. He smiles through all of it.

The creepiness of the book didn\'t interfere with my sleepiness. The words became blurry as a warm sensation carries me towards rest. I wrestle through the last pages of the book\'s chapter, forcing myself not to sleep until completing one more page of dreadful imagery. A low buzzing sound came to me, shutting me down. I swear there was a creaking sound, similar to wood but I couldn\'t resist anymore and finally closed my eyes.

*CLACK!*

The sound of the lock woke me up suddenly. Everything went silent, not a single sound from my apartment or outside. I walk slowly to the door, the silence had become intense. I grab the doorknob and try to pull it, but it wouldn\'t move.

*CLACK!*

Something locked the door from the outside. Footsteps creaked up the stairs. I turn to my table looking for my keys — they are not there. I am trapped.

***

I need to find my keys. I swear I left them next to the book. Not under the table. Not under the bed. Not in the bathroom. I can\'t believe I lost them.

I get on a chair to look outside. No one is there except the old homeless guy huddled on the other side of the street. He waves at me slowly with a grin on his face. I wave back out of courtesy.

I\'ll need to do something to keep myself entertained, perhaps some work. Better if I just try to sleep.

I look back at the street, the old man is still waving at me with an uncanny motion. I pray the landlord comes tomorrow. It\'s okay, I\'ll get out of here soon...

***

I couldn\'t sleep well, I stayed most of the night looking at the ceiling. I think of my keys. If this is some kind of prank it\'s a really bad one, good thing I\'m not claustrophobic.

The building comes back to life. Children going down to play, the hurried steps of parents rushing to catch them and the groan of the elevators, it gave me a sense of security.

I bang on my door hoping for someone to hear it, but nothing. The building must be too busy for anyone to hear me. The landlord should arrive soon. I\'ll check if…

*CLING*

Silence again. No more children, creaking stairs or flushing sounds. The noise came from my window. A passing shadow darkened the room for a second. I pull a chair to see clearly in front of my window screen.

It is a key.

Bronze colored and slightly crooked. It IS my key, just a couple of inches away.

***

My knuckles hurt from tapping the glass. No one saw me, no one heard me. The window too thick for either. How unfortunate that the homeless man isn\'t here tonight, perhaps he could have helped me.

I give up on calling for help, I keep an eye on the key on the other side of my window. My key sits just inches away.

Right. There.

I stop myself from hitting the window. It\'s getting dark. Eating will distract me from the stupid key.

***

Dinner was worse than yesterday. It barely tasted like chicken, just a bunch of gray bird meat. My stomach gurgles in protest of my unpleasant dinner.

I sit down and write a letter of complaint to my landlord. Short, but it conveys my anger. It gave me just enough satisfaction to try to sleep.

***

I keep waking up. I was getting a good sleep but there is a noise that wakes me up. An annoying, scratching sound.

It begins like a small, sharp tap, almost bird-like. Then it becomes longer and louder, moving from the door to the window, creeping inside my head. Sounds like scratching glass. A second noise joins it. They only stop when I wake up.

*sch*

I hear them start again. I keep my eyes closed.

*scrch*

They are louder. I turn myself in the bed away from them.

*scritch…*

There is a third scratch now, coming from the wall. I want sleep. They don\'t let me.

*scritch..ch..ch..ch*

I want to sleep.

*SCRITCH* *SCRITCH* *SCRITCH*

“STOP!!”

I yelled. No answer. It stopped… I think... Now, I can sleep.

I cover myself with my sheets, can\'t help keeping an ear out. I close my eyes but can\'t sleep, unsure if the sound is still going.

***

I had to muster strength to peek outside my sheets and get out of bed, the lack of noise had me nervous. Whatever was making that noise had eaten all the other sounds. The room felt different, hostile.

The room looked older, like a decaying plant that has become dry. The paint dark and flaking, dust covering everything. My back shivered from a nonexistent wind. The winter clouds masked everything in a gray filter.

From the corner of my eye something beckoned. My body stiffens as a cold sensation traces my back. I turn –slowly, unsure of what I would find. I clutch my hand out of fear.

Dark lines had emerged from the door like roots from a malfested tree, encircling my bed. Their foul smell became apparent as I approached. The old door had also grown, stretching unnaturally to the ceiling, its surface weeping oil like melting wood. I backed away.

It was also darker. Shadows had grown and swallowed the morning light. I turned to my window, now diminished and seemingly smaller, and remembered my key. My hope, my salvation.

It was there, I exhale in relief with a tinge of anger. Then I noticed – I couldn\'t hear anything from outside. Not a car, not a dog, nothing. No noise came, the world gone mute. I knock on the window but nothing. I speak, I hit the window and kick my chair to hear something but only silence welcomes me. I tear on my ears to try to force a sound –any sound– to break through. I huddle against the wall, screaming in intervals until my throat feels like I ate glass, eyes fixed on the door. I fear the scratching noise will return.

***

*Huff*

Noise at last, my breath. I snap my fingers, I hear again. I shout out of disbelief. My throat stings, my body aches. I stand up and limp to the table.

I don\'t know what time it is, I\'ve been sitting for so long, becoming mad from the deafness, that I forgot to eat. Three day chicken sounds more appealing after several hours without eating.

The remaining collection of bones and cartilage looked shriveled in the cold. As I take it out I am thankful to hear the simple noise of the fridge door closing, deafness is death.

Mold. Spots on the chicken where there is still some meat left. I consider throwing it away before my stomach growls in protest again. I warm what\'s usable on the stovetop and swallow the gray paste with no delight. I don\'t eat much of it, I have to make it last.

***

My only lightbulb has begun failing. It flickers in a stuttering pattern. I don\'t want to know what happens if I stay alone in the dark.

I turn again to my window, my key remains there. Unperturbed. Unreachable. Its presence is a promise of the outside. The window frames it like a trophy to be won. I don\'t like trophies.

I sit in a futile attempt to keep something akin to strength. A blurry silhouette looms behind my escape.

The old man. He returned.

***

His grin spreads across his face. He stands still. He keeps waving at me. Waving…

He sees me! I shout at him, ignoring the pain in my throat. I smile. I can imagine the smell of the outside world.

I put my face near the window to call him again. My face fills almost all the frame. I remembered the window being bigger, I must be really tired. I\'ll rest after I leave this wretched place, soon enough.

The man stops waving and starts walking towards me. He limps, his left leg drags behind while his body struggles to keep balance. He stops for a moment, and his grin widens. The vagrant continues his awkward gait towards my window screen, he ignores the cars and other passerbys with the singular purpose of reaching me.

He is close. Very close. I\'ll be out soon. Move faster, you old fart.

He finally reaches for the key. I look at him. He picks it up with no clear expression on his face. I stay quiet waiting for his next move, hoping. He gently approaches a bystander and says something to them. I can\'t see clearly, the window is too small.

He… He gave it away. No, no, no… Come back. \"COME BACK!!\"

\"IT IS MY KEY!!\"

Why he... I thought that... I NEED IT. \"BRING IT TO ME!!!\"

I scream furiously. My throat tears itself apart again. I punch the stupid window in desperation until my blood paints it red.

And the old man didn\'t care. I... he... did not see me. He gave it to someone as if they dropped it.

I can\'t… What is left for me?

***

The room is dark, cold and red.

I walk around aimlessly in circles, thinking of what to do. Maybe it has been hours. My head hurts, my hand hurts and the smell has gotten worse.

I look at the floor and see a shadow moving.

A shadow, from my own room, slowly closing in like it was the light getting swallowed. The sun shouldn\'t be setting yet. But the shadow is moving…

I look up to my own bloodstained glass, it is..., is it? The light, the shadows. It is getting smaller.

My window is shrinking, I have to do something. I look in fear to the door and noticed how much bigger it has gotten, the roots have taken the room.

Panic. I pick up a chair from the table. I hurl it towards the disappearing window with my last strength, I fall. It cracks the glass. I get up. Try again, try now, the shadows are growing.

I break the chair. I hit again. and again. and again. The shadows take my feet.

I feel tears on my cheeks, I keep hitting. Again. and again…

It\'s not stopping. Everything is blurry, the light only remains on my face.

I kneel. I pray. I cry. The light is but a small beam. I beg.

The light dies on my forehead. I am in darkness. I hear unknown sounds, crawling above me, behind me, in front of me. I can\'t find anything. I must find the door. I have to…

Creak - Clap - Clap - Creak - Clap…

Everything dies, no sound, no light. Just behind the door, something came down the stairs.

I hold my breath between the resounding…

*CLACK*

…of the first lock. I close my eyes before the second…

*CLACK*

of the door, even though I can\'t see anything. The screeching sound of it opening wounds me as I hold back my cries of despair. I feel it approaching. Closer.