It was a cold night in January, and I woke up about two in the morning with air from the vent blowing in my face. I closed my mouth, swallowed, and sat up.
The furnace blower clicked off, and I heard the wind buffeting the house.
A window pane rattled. A board creaked.
Not bothering to find my glasses in the dark, I got out of bed and made my way upstairs. The walk outside the front door shone blue through the glass.
I left the light off in the kitchen and found a glass in the cupboard by touch. I turned on the water, and when I felt it grow cold, filled the glass and took a drink, holding the water in my mouth for a few seconds before letting it flow down my throat.
I pulled back the curtain above the sink to look outside. All I saw was black. Not the back porch railing or the tree beyond that. Then, like a stone hitting, it registered.
There was someone standing right outside the window, looking at me.
© Ken Long
Also see "A Walk in the Dark," “An Old Photographer’s Secret," and "The True Story of Christmas Island."
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