The windows of my house tremble from the power of thunder rolling across the skies, lightning strikes in the distance ,illuminating the night. In the in the small movement, the fuse seconds of blinding light show cases the man standing outside my window. Watching me , always watching me, I go through the motions just like I always do.
My heart skips a beat and then palpitates,ray breatiling turns shallow , and my hands grow clammy, it doesn't matter how many times I see him, he always pulls the same reaction out of me.
Fear 😨,
And Excitement .
I don't know why it excites me. Something must be wrong with me. It's not normal for liquid heat to course through my veins, leaving tingles burning in its wake. It's not common for my mind to start wondering about things I shouldn't.
Can he say me now? Wearing nothing but I think tank top my nipples poking through the material? Or the shorts I am wearing that barely cover my ass?
Does he like the view?
Of course he does.
That's why he watches me isn't it? That's why he comes bat every night, growing boulder with his leaving while eyes silently challenge him . Hoping he will come closer I have a reason to put a nice to his throat.
The truth is, I am scared of him. Terrified actually.
But the man standing outside my window makes me feel like I am sitting in a dark room a single light shining from the television where a horror flip please on the screen. It's petrifying , and all I want to do is hide, but there is a distinct part of me that keeps me still, bearing myself to the horror. That finds a small thrill out of it.
It's dark again, and the lightning strikes in areas further away.
My breathing continues to escalate. I can't see him, but he can see me.
Ripping my eyes away from the window I turn to look behind me in the dark and house paranoid that he is somehow found a way inside. No matter how did the shadow go in parsons Manor, the black and white checked floor always since visible.
I inherited this house from my grandparents. My great grand parents had built the three story Victorian home back in the early 1940s so blood tears and the lives of five construction workers.
Legend says are rather Nana says that the house caught fire and killed the construction workers during the building structure phase. I haven't been able to find any news articles on the unfortunate event ,but the souls that haunt the Manor reek of despair.
Nana always told grandiose stories that
Wrung I rolls from my parents.
Mom never believed anything Nana said but I think she just didn't want to.
Sometimes I hear foot steps at night.
They could be from The Ghost of the workers who died in the tragic fire 80 years ago , aur they could be from the shadow that stands outside my house.
Watching me.
Always watching me.