The Man Who Stands at My Window Every Night
(每晚站在我窗外的男人:true crime story, paranormal encounter, scary story, mysterious stalker)
By [Your Name]
I’ve lived in this apartment for three years. It’s small, cheap, and sits on the third floor overlooking a narrow alleyway. I always felt safe here. At least, I did until seven days ago.
It started on a Tuesday. I was doing the dishes late at night when I glanced out the kitchen window. In the dim glow of the streetlamp below, I saw him. A man. Standing perfectly still in the middle of the empty alley, staring directly up at my window.
My heart skipped a beat. I froze, a soapy plate still in my hand.
Just a drunk, I told myself. Or someone waiting for an Uber.
But he didn't move. He just stood there. Completely motionless. Like a mannequin dropped in the rain. After what felt like an eternity, he tilted his head—a slow, deliberate tilt, as if adjusting his neck to get a better look at me. Then, he stepped back into the shadows and vanished.
I didn't sleep much that night.
The next evening, I made sure all the blinds were tightly shut before dark. I told myself I was being paranoid. People walk down alleys all the time. But around midnight, I heard it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three soft knocks against the glass of my living room window.
My blood turned to ice. I held my breath and slowly pulled back the blinds just a crack. There he was. He had moved from the alley to the side of the building. He was standing on the rusted fire escape, his face pressed so close to the glass that his nose flattened against it. His eyes were wide open, unblinking.
I screamed and stumbled backward, knocking over a lamp. When I gathered the courage to look again, he was gone.
I called the police the next morning. They took a report, drove around the block, and told me they didn't find anyone. "Probably some neighborhood kids," the officer said, clearly trying not to yawn. "Keep your windows locked."
Locked? My windows don't even have locks! This is a rental.
That night, I pushed my heavy dresser in front of the living room window and barricaded the front door with two chairs. I slept with a baseball bat under my pillow. Around 2 AM, the tapping started again.
But it wasn't coming from the living room.
It was coming from my bedroom window.
How? My bedroom faces the brick wall of the adjacent building. There's only a two-foot gap between the structures. No human being could fit through there. Yet, the tapping was undeniable. Tap. Tap. Tap. Rhythmic. Patient.
I didn't sleep at all.
On Friday, I decided I couldn't live like this anymore. I bought a high-definition security camera and mounted it outside my living room window, angled down toward the fire escape. If he showed up again, I would have proof. I would catch the bastard.
Friday night came. I sat on my bed, watching the live feed on my laptop. The grainy black-and-white image showed the empty fire escape, illuminated by the pale moonlight.
3:00 AM. Nothing.
3:15 AM. Still nothing.
I was starting to feel stupid. Maybe the cops were right. Maybe it was just stress.
Then, at exactly 3:22 AM, the camera caught movement.
He emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the screen. He was tall, wearing a dark hoodie, his face obscured by the shadows of his hood. He walked slowly up the metal stairs. Step by step. Until he reached my window.
I watched, paralyzed, as he raised his hand. Instead of knocking, he just placed his palm flat against the glass, right where the camera was mounted. The feed went completely dark.
Static.
He had covered the lens with his hand.
I scrambled to grab my phone to call 911, my hands shaking violently. But then, a notification popped up on my screen. An email. From an unknown sender.
The subject line read: "Why do you keep looking at me?"
Attached was a photo. It was taken from inside my apartment. It was a picture of me, sitting on my bed, staring in horror at my own laptop screen.
The tapping started again. But this time, it wasn't on the window.
It was on my bedroom door.
And then, the handle began to turn.
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