The Man at the Window

I cannot afford to sleep

Late at night. I lie in bed.

I toss around and play with the covers.

There’s a small window right in front of my bed. A white see-through curtain fails to cover it.

I have asked Mother to get a new one. “Please, Mother, one that fully covers the window.”

She says we have no money, not even for a piece of fabric.

I need a new curtain. I need to cover that window up.

Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.

In the meantime, I spend long nights staring into the dark unknown. I’m so tired, my eyes almost close. I feel myself drifting into sleep, but I sit up.

I cannot afford to sleep. What will happen if I quit my watch? Who or what will stand by the window if I fail to stay awake?

They would look inside. Stare at me. Look at my sleeping body.

I would be defenseless. Powerless.

They would look at me all they wanted, and I wouldn’t even know.

I can’t fall asleep.

One of those nights, I drift away.

I must have been too tired.

Within my dream, I was in this very room. The same bed. The same covers.

The same window.

A man stands on the other side of the glass. He looks at me.

I cover myself with my blankets, but it’s no use.

I can feel his eyes on me.

I master the courage to look at him again.

He smiles.

I freeze in place.

He licks his lips.

I want to move, but my legs refuse to obey me.

I try to wake up.

The man touches the glass. His hand goes right through it, then his whole arm, his head…his entire body.

He is in my room now.

He walks towards my bed and stands beside me.

“Hello, little girl,” he says.

I try to scream, but his hand covers my mouth.

As I taste the dirt on his fingers, I realize:

I am not asleep. And I’ll never dream again.