Stella was lying in a bed. She was paralysed from the waist down. She had one little joy to keep her going.
Just out her window, if she was turned on her side, she could see a small garden of gladioli. She could watch each flower open as it “climbed the stem” day by day. Oh so many colours! Each day’s new flowers was Nature’s way of saying “Good morning!”
One rainy day someone came along and picked all the flowers and walked off.
I always sleep with the curtains of my bedroom window wide open. I like to fall asleep looking at the stars; not that I can see many stars because there’s a hill, and low on the horizon there is the reflection of the city street lights that brighten the night sky over the hill. Apart from that I’m pretty much in the country; on the city outskirts I suppose.
The window opens only a little bit – a couple of inches. I guess my bedroom might have been a children’s bedroom when the previous owners lived here and they didn’t want things to open too wide. Of course by yanking the window it would be easy enough to break the bit that prevents the window from opening wide. That might be handy if there was an emergency. Anyway, I’m happy to have the window slightly ajar to let in air and keep the criminals out! I live on my own.
Last night there was a very clear sky with no moon and I could see a few stars clearly, including one that was extremely bright and I presume it was the planet Venus or something. When I woke this morning the window had been yanked open from the outside and there were footprints of mud on the window sill. Someone had clearly entered.
Of course I was pretty terrified and wasn’t that keen to go into other parts of the house in case I encountered something dangerous. But I couldn’t stand in my bedroom all day so I got dressed and climbed out the window into the garden.
And that’s where I am now.
When Clyde got out of bed that morning he had no idea (who does?) how his day would end.
There he was in early afternoon innocently sitting on the window ledge of his girlfriend’s new apartment when suddenly Tracey pushed him out the seventeenth story window.
As she pushed him suddenly out she was heard to exclaim, “Die you selfish toad. I love Shane now and I do this for Shane.” What Tracey didn’t realize was that her accommodation unit was set in the middle of a high-rise rooftop garden. Clyde fell no more than three feet onto a soft paving.
Clyde got up, brushing a little sandy gravel off his knees. He was half bemused and half shocked. It was the last thing he had been expecting.
Tracey had jumped out the window herself when she realized her murderous plot had backfired. She turned her shock and agitation into concocted horror. Naturally she pretended it was a practical joke. She was merely playing around. Of course she didn’t love Shane; she didn’t even like him. Shane was a creep. Everyone knew that the window seventeen stories up opened onto a rooftop frequently used for barbeques.
Clyde didn’t believe her for one minute. The rooftop was surrounded by a safety balustrade. Clyde picked up Tracey and threw her over it. She almost floated down to splat amongst the ant-like figures busy about their business way, way in the street below.
It certainly pays to check before throwing someone from a great height. That got rid of Tracey. Now there was no one to come between Clyde and his boyfriend, Shane.
(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Alex of Alex Raphael. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)
It was the last thing he expected to see when he looked out the window. In fact, a cruel Fate would suggest it was the last thing he saw. Period. But it wasn’t the last thing he saw. Instead, after seeing it, he writhed in agony for a good month before succumbing. Basically, to call a spade a spade, to say it as it is, to shoot from the hip, Buster died of pain. His death certificate stated otherwise, as death certificates sometimes do, but the cause of death was pain, pure and simple.
It had all started out as a normal sort of day. Buster had got up early, while it was still dark, because he had to take Francine to the train station. She was off to see her sister who lived in Thrushton-on-Beau. It was when he came back home that he drew apart the bedroom curtains and looked out the window. Oh God! Who would’ve thought? Buster lay on the laminate bedroom flooring for three days in intense pain before Francine returned wondering why he had not picked her up at the train station. She called an ambulance.
The ambulance people said they’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t just the sight of Buster that was hard to take; it was the sounds he uttered. It sounded like a cross between a screech and a groan, a scream and a gasp. And then in the hospital things became so bad that they had to get Leila, an old nurse who was stone-deaf, to look after him. A visiting surgeon from the Netherlands was tempted to fill a syringe with some stuff to help Buster shuffle off his mortal coil.
Quite frankly, it was a relief when Buster died. It didn’t put just Buster out of his misery; it put everyone else out of misery, especially Francine who had suffered throughout the final month with sterling fortitude.
Of course, what no one realized was that the cause of all this was still lurking outside the bedroom window.
Waiting.
Noreen was always thinking up new ideas, and this time she had come up with something brilliant. She had a man install floor to ceiling one-way glass in her toilet.
Noreen could sit there, comfortably enthroned, and survey the world. She could see out, and no one could see in. What a dazzling idea!
Outside the window was a busy road. It was always interesting to watch the traffic and pedestrians go by. She imagined all sorts of destinations and conversations. Beyond the road was an expansive valley, and beyond that loomed imposing mountains. Things were always different; ever changing. The weather made the scene a chameleon, forever mutating colours. The temptation was to sit there for too long. But goodness me!
Of course at night, with the toilet light on, and it being dark outside, Noreen couldn’t see a thing. But at night, people seemed so much friendlier; every second car seemed to give a friendly toot. And pedestrians passing by were always full of laughter.
Nora: My word, it’s getting cold these day. Winter has certainly arrived.
Mavis: The first snow always starts about now. What a downfall last night!
Nora: We’ve had the fire going for over a month now.
Mavis: My husband keeps looking through the window. I tell you, if the weather keeps up like this I’ll have to let him in.
Listen to the story being read HERE!
Roger reckoned he saw a face at the window. He was sitting watching television one evening, and he looked over and saw this horrific face staring at him through the window.
Everyone said he was nuts. It’ll just be a passer-by, someone suggested. It might be a thief, suggested another. It was a terrible face, said Roger. It was the devil.
Everyone laughed at that. Yeah, right. The devil!
Roger saw the face again, and again. He said the face grew uglier and more terrifying every time he saw it. He was going mad. A friend stayed over, and the face didn’t appear. Then when the friend left, the face appeared.
It’ll just be a passer-by. Just a passer-by. Roger was found blubbering in a corner, whimpering like a sick dog. He never recovered. Just a passer-by.
But it couldn’t have been a passer-by; Roger lived on the forty-seventh floor.
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Weave a Web 