The Watcher in the Dark

The Watcher in the Dark

It was the kind of night when the wind howled through the trees and the city seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence. Sarah Spencer didn’t believe in the supernatural, not in any way that mattered. Not until that night.

She had just moved into the old Victorian house on the edge of town. The place was cheap, perfect for a young woman starting a new chapter of her life. The realtor had been quick to mention the house’s history—too quick, as if it was part of some sales pitch. "Charming, isn’t it?" he’d said. "A bit of character. Nothing to worry about, of course."

Sarah wasn’t one to be spooked by strange noises or old stories, but there was something different about this house. The way the floorboards creaked underfoot, the way shadows seemed to cling to the corners of every room. She had dismissed it all as the product of her overactive imagination. That is, until she saw him.

It was around midnight when Sarah sat down at her desk, her laptop screen casting a pale blue glow over the room. The house had fallen into its usual silence. No footsteps, no distant whispers. Just the occasional groan of the walls settling. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a shadow.

At first, she thought it was just the way the light played on the walls, or perhaps a trick of her tired eyes. But when the shadow moved—no, when it moved—she froze.

A figure, tall and indistinct, was standing just outside her window. The curtains were drawn, but through the gap in the fabric, Sarah could see the faint outline of a man. He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Just stood there, staring. The chill that crept up her spine was enough to make her heart race.

She grabbed her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed the number of her neighbor, Mrs. Brown, an elderly woman who lived across the street. The phone rang. And rang. No answer.

"Hello?" The voice came from behind her, cutting through the air like a knife.

Sarah spun around so fast her chair nearly tipped over. But there was no one. The room was empty. The air felt wrong—thick and heavy, as if something had just shifted in the atmosphere. Her pulse quickened. She glanced back toward the window. The figure was gone.

Or so she thought.

A soft scraping sound broke the silence, like something—or someone—was moving outside. Sarah moved toward the window, her feet dragging on the creaky floor. She parted the curtains, her breath catching in her throat.

The figure was still there, only now much closer. And this time, his face was visible.

It was pale, gaunt, with dark, hollow eyes that stared into her like they were seeing right through her. A thin, twisted smile spread across his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unnatural about him. Something wrong.

Sarah stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. The smile grew wider, more grotesque. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the figure vanished into the night.

She should’ve called the police. She should’ve done something. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she bolted the windows and locked every door in the house, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a cold sweat beginning to trickle down her spine.

For the rest of the night, she didn’t sleep. Every creak of the floor, every gust of wind, had her jumping. Her mind raced. Who was he? Why was he watching her?

Morning came, but the terror didn’t subside. Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that the figure had never left—that he was still out there, waiting. She tried to go about her day, making coffee, checking emails, but her mind kept drifting back to that face. That smile.

Around noon, she finally worked up the nerve to venture outside. Her breath hitched as she stepped onto the front porch, her eyes scanning the yard. Nothing seemed out of place, but the air felt thick, oppressive. A low hum buzzed in her ears, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

That’s when she noticed it.

On the mailbox, barely visible in the midday sun, was a single word: WATCHING.

Sarah felt her stomach drop. She spun around, heart racing, expecting to see the figure standing in the driveway, watching her. But the yard was empty. Still, the weight of his presence lingered in the air.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. It was a text from Mrs. Brown.

"I saw him too."

Sarah's fingers trembled as she read the message again. Mrs. Brown? The elderly woman who’d lived across the street for as long as Sarah could remember? What did she mean, "I saw him too"?

Sarah’s mind whirled. There was no way Mrs. Brown had seen the man—no one else was supposed to be in that part of town. Not at night. The old woman had barely left her house in years.

A sudden thought hit Sarah like a bolt of lightning. She dialed Mrs. Brown’s number. The line clicked, but no one answered. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She stepped back into the house, her heart pounding, eyes flicking nervously toward the windows.

A loud knock at the door.

She froze. A heartbeat passed. The knocking came again, more insistent this time.

Without thinking, Sarah peered through the peephole. The sight made her stomach twist in horror.

The figure was standing on her doorstep.

But it wasn’t just him.

Behind him, through the frosted glass of the door, she could make out two other shapes—tall, shadowy figures, indistinct but undeniably there. She could see their outlines shifting in the dim light, but their faces were obscured.

The knocking continued, growing louder.

In a panic, Sarah grabbed her keys, her mind racing. She had to leave. She had to get out of there. But the door wouldn’t open.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized—the locks weren’t engaged. The door had been bolted from the inside.

Something whispered from the shadows, faint but clear.

"We’re not done watching."

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She backed away from the door, her body trembling, until she hit the wall. There was nowhere left to run.

The phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up in the dark room. Another message from Mrs. Brown.

"He’s been watching for years. He won’t stop until he gets you."

And that was when Sarah understood. This wasn’t just about her. This was about something much darker, something much older. The Watcher had come for her, and there was no escaping.

The door creaked open.

The End.