Girl in the Glass


Suddenly a dismal figure flashed by in the window.

Girl in the Glass

The window looked out upon a small backyard; behind the house was the forest. He only saw her at sunrise and sunset. That was when he was six. She had scared him then, but he had been  a young boy with an imagination. When he was a teenager he had dismissed her. Now, as an adult, he wasn’t certain what to make of it.

His childhood home was old now. The family had moved away when he was around eight. When pressed for answers, no one seemed to remember why. He suspected that his parents knew something. They would never tell, though.

That’s why he came back.

He stood in the musty kitchen, looking out that same window.

It wasn’t dirty. Just warped somehow. But inside the glass, not on its surface . . . He had checked outside, and he still couldn’t understand it. It was a single-paned window, with one sheet of glass. One of the old ones, with the metal framing, and the latches that always seemed to get stuck whenever you tried to close the window. The glass was dirty on the surface, but warped inside of itself.

Like gasoline.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

There was a scurrying sound, and he jumped. Wild animals had taken up residence here; there was a fox, a multitude of mice and squirrels, and a pigeon roost in the attic. Nothing here though. Not even a cobweb.

Like something was . . .

. . . What?

Scaring them away?

He swung back to the window. Something had hissed at him. From behind.

And it wasn’t a mouse.

The window had grown noticeably darker, like a bruise, or something else. Outside there was a bright afternoon sun overhead.

Before anything else could happen, he turned around and bolted.

There was nothing to see here.

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