| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted March 16, 2025 |
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Who was watching who?
The Watcher
by Begin Again
"Thanks for calling, Mom. You two need to stop worrying. The house is great. I love the front porch swing, which is where I am headed now. Tell Dad I said goodnight."
Sarah hung up the phone and walked outside. Standing on the porch, she could see the full moon and countless stars, much more than she could ever have seen in the city. She loved it here.
Of course, the moving boxes still sat stacked in her living room, waiting to be unpacked, but she preferred the fresh air and the quiet of her new neighborhood. It was a peaceful street lined with old houses and towering oaks.
Her gaze drifted across the road to the house directly opposite hers. It was old, its paint peeling, shutters hanging loose. A faint scent of smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp night breeze. Yet, what caught her attention was the figure in the upstairs window — a young girl with long, dark hair, her face eerily pale in the glow of the moonlight. She had noticed the girl several nights in a row, always standing in that same spot, gazing outward as if searching for something or someone.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably. The scent of burned wood and melted wax lingered in the air. She raised her hand in a small wave, but the girl didn't wave back. As Sarah was about to look away, the girl waved and stepped backward into the darkness, disappearing from view.
Despite the warmth of the night, a chill pricked Sarah's skin. The hair on her neck bristled. She moved into the house and grabbed her phone. She called her friend Lisa. "Hey, I know it's late, but can I ask you something weird?"
Lisa yawned on the other end. "Sure. What's up?"
"There's this girl in the house across the street. Every night, she stands at the window, staring out. It's unsettling. I'm wondering if I should call someone. Maybe she needs help."
Silence stretched for several seconds before Lisa spoke, her tone suddenly alert. "Sarah — which house?"
"The old white one, number 623," Sarah replied.
Another pause. Then, in a hushed voice, Lisa said, "That house burned down five years ago. I knew the family. The little girl who lived there — Emily — she died in the fire."
Sarah's breath caught in her throat. "That's not possible," she whispered. "I see her every night."
"There's nothing to see," Lisa insisted. "No one rebuilt it. It's just an empty lot. I remember because they were having a birthday party when the fire started."
Heart pounding, Sarah shot to her feet and stepped outside, her phone clenched in her hand. The house was still there. She could see it standing there.
Her stomach twisted. The porch railing — she hadn't noticed before — was blackened and crumbling as if scorched by fire. The windows, reflecting the moonlight just moments ago, were now gaping holes of darkness.
A gust of wind kicked up, sending dry leaves skittering across the pavement. A shiver, icy fingers, raced across her spine. She took a hesitant step closer to the street.
"Sarah, are you still there?"
"Yeah, yeah, Lisa. I'm fine. Sorry, I woke you up."
She hung up the phone and moved back to her porch when she saw something move.
Sarah's eyes locked on the sidewalk in front of the ruined house. The girl was no longer in the window. She was standing outside on the overgrown lawn, staring directly at her.
Sarah turned and bolted inside, slamming the door shut and locking it tight. Her breath came in short gasps as she backed away from the door, her mind racing. She had to be imagining things. Lisa was right. The house had burned down.
Yet, in the days that followed, strange things began happening. One morning, she found a plate of cookies on her porch, the edges slightly burned, sitting neatly on an old-fashioned ceramic plate. No note, no explanation. A few days later, an envelope arrived — inside, a child's crayon drawing of a birthday party — balloons, a cake, and stick figures holding hands. Scrawled at the bottom in shaky letters, it said, "Come play with me."
Sarah's hands trembled as she dropped the picture. She refused to look outside that night, pulling her curtains tight.
But the following evening, as the sun set, she finally gathered the courage to step onto her porch again. She barely had time to gasp. Emily stood at the edge of her driveway, holding a single red balloon. Her small fingers gripped the string tightly as she stared at Sarah, her expression unreadable.
Sarah's throat went dry. She swallowed, her voice barely more than a breath. "What do you want?"
The girl didn't answer. Slowly, she raised her hand and let the balloon go. It drifted upward, twisting in the breeze, rising higher and higher until it vanished into the night sky.
When Sarah looked back, the girl was gone.
A barely audible whisper echoed in the wind. "Thank you for coming to my party." The scent of smoke thickened, curling around her. Birthday music drifted through the air.
Sarah stepped backward, her foot catching on the porch step. She looked across the street and gasped. The house was gone. All that remained was an empty lot, overgrown with weeds.
The following day, her eyes caught something new on the sidewalk. Written in large, childlike letters with pink chalk were the words — "See you soon, Sarah."
That night, Sarah stood at her window, hands pressed against the glass, watching.
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