i started turning off the lights after i noticed his presence.
at first, i thought he was just some creep. some addict trying to rob me, maybe, but he didn't look high. then i thought he was a murderer. but murderers do something, and he did nothing.
in the beginning, i turned off the lights to hide.
i switched off the lamps one by one before bed, closed the curtains, and avoided walking too close to the windows.
but he remained there, waiting. watching.
every now and then, i would peek through the curtains and find the same silhouette across the street, sitting on the bench. sometimes he pretended to use his phone. other times, he held an open book without turning a single page. sometimes he simply stood there, motionless enough to look like part of the landscape.
after a while, i stopped turning the lights off.
i left the bathroom window unlocked, the curtains open, every lamp in the house on except for the porch lights.
i wasn't sure he was real.
some nights i spotted him immediately.
on others, i spent minutes searching for his silhouette between the trees and the streetlights.
maybe he was a projection of my mind. maybe i was just lonely. if he really existed, i wanted to know what would happen if i made things easier for him.
even before i realized he was watching me, i already knew which bench was his favorite in the square.
not that i thought about him often.
still, it was the first thing i looked for whenever i passed by the window. i only realized how much attention i paid to him when he stopped showing up.
on the first night, i didn't think much of it.
on the second, i searched for his silhouette between the streetlights.
on the third, i spent far too long standing by the window. the bench remained empty.
i caught myself wondering whether he had given up, found another street, or simply decided i wasn't worth the effort anymore.
once, i stayed awake until he finally decided to leave.
i wasn't sure he had a home to return to. still, i followed him. at the time, i didn't think much about it. it seemed like the logical thing to do.
ten minutes later, i realized i didn't need to follow him.
i already knew where he was going.
when he turned left, i wasn't surprised. when he crossed the avenue, i wasn't surprised either. the surprise came later.
the surprise was realizing i was right.
he had a habit of visiting the twenty-four-hour video rental store downtown and spending far too much time wandering between the shelves. i thought video rental stores had disappeared years ago, but apparently not.
the bell above the door announced his arrival every time. i recognized the sound before i even saw him. he always headed toward the back of the store, where the foreign films and restored classics were kept. he spent more time reading synopses than actually choosing anything.
he usually returned everything on the same day.
i never knew whether he watched the films or simply liked the idea of being the kind of person who would.
the first time he came into the café, i thought it was a coincidence. he spent a few minutes looking at the menu. too long, considering it was a single sheet. when it was his turn, he ordered the same drink i used to get during breaks. i didn’t want to serve him, so i hid behind the espresso machine and pretended to be busy.
i remember looking at him for too long when i heard the words “double espresso mocha with cinnamon.”
i don’t know if it was the words or the way the syllables came out of his lips.
i made his coffee.
i didn’t hand him the drink. i let someone else do it. still, i watched it travel across the counter. watched him take it, sit down, drink it.
i spent longer on him than i should have.
he didn’t seem to like cinnamon. he finished it anyway.
for a few seconds, i wondered if that order had been for me.
not the drink. the gesture.
like he was telling me he knew.
i spent the rest of my shift trying to decide if it had been coincidence.
three days later, when i saw him sitting on the bench again, i still wasn’t sure.
he was there like he always was. i had just gotten out of the shower when i saw him in the mirror’s reflection.
watching me as i watched myself.
i wasn’t scared.
i probably should have been.
somewhere between the first time i saw him in the square and that night, his presence stopped feeling like an intrusion and started feeling like part of the scenery.
he was there.
he was almost always there.
that night, i left all the lights on longer than usual. i knew he would look. that he would think he was seeing everything.
then i turned all of them off.
the streetlight spilled faintly into the corner of my living room. i read for a while, using it as a makeshift lamp. i tried to drink the rest of the coffee i made when i got home, but nothing held my attention the way he did.
i had spent the entire night sitting in the darkest corner of the room. from the square, the windows only showed fragments of the apartment. the television. the bookshelf. part of the hallway.
the sofa stayed hidden behind the wall. it was one of the only places in the house where i could see him without being seen.
my phone was off.
my computer was in the office.
my only company was the brief moments my dog passed through his little door, looked at me for a second, and went back to the balcony. he always preferred watching over participating.
but he stayed there.
i found his silhouette every time i looked up from the page. sometimes he seemed to be on his phone. sometimes he just sat still. i stayed like that long enough to wonder if he would stay the whole night.
my heart sped up when i realized he wouldn’t.
he started walking toward the house like a mirage.
from far away he looked certain. i wondered if he really was. if he would actually come inside this time. if he would cross the street only to change his mind at the last second, like he had done before.
he didn’t.
he kept walking.
each step looked more absurd than the last. when he reached the gate, i closed the book. the sound felt too loud. for the first time that night,i stopped pretending i was doing anything other than waiting for him.
i stayed still for a few seconds, watching his silhouette through the dark.
he was close enough for me to make out his shoulders. the way his hands stayed in his coat pockets. close enough to stop being part of the scenery. far enough to still be a stranger.
i waited until he disappeared from view.
only then i stood up.
the blanket slipped from my knees and fell onto the sofa. the house felt different without the lights on. larger. emptier. colder. like it didn’t fully belong to me anymore.
i moved through the hallway slowly, knowing every creak in the floorboards.
i avoided all of them.
the bathroom window was still unlocked, the curtain still damp from the shower.
for a moment, i looked at my reflection in the glass.
my hair still wet. the oversized shirt with the queen logo faded beyond recognition. my expression strangely calm.
i had imagined that night so many times that when it finally happened, it felt less like a decision and more like a memory.
when i pushed the window open, the cold air hit my face immediately.
outside, the street was silent. no cars. no voices. just wind moving through the trees in the square.
i climbed out carefully, making sure not to make a sound. the grass was wet under my feet. for a moment, i stayed pressed against the wall of the house, listening.
nothing.
no doors.
no footsteps.
no voices.
just the house settling into itself again.
he must be inside now.
the thought made my stomach twist in a way i couldn’t fully explain. not fear, but not satisfaction either. like something had finally moved into the right place.
i crossed the street and looked back at the house only once. without the lights on, it looked smaller. farther away. almost unrecognizable.
i went to the bench. his bench. the wood was cold when i sat down. the old varnish was starting to peel at the edges of the backrest. i rested my arms and watched the windows.
that’s when i understood.
for months, i had been trying to figure out why he spent so much time there.
the view wasn’t even that good. the balcony really did block half the living room. the trees covered part of the second floor. in summer, the branches almost blocked my bedroom window completely.
still, i couldn’t look anywhere else.
because he was inside.
and i knew it.
a few minutes passed. then a faint light turned on — my office lamp. i watched the yellow rectangle appear on the second floor. nothing happened for a few seconds. then a few more. and a few more.
i couldn’t see him from there, only the light. for a moment, his shadow passed across the window and disappeared again.
it didn’t matter.
i knew what was on that desk. which photograph he would pick up first. what was written on the back of it. for the first time in a long time, i didn’t have to imagine what was happening inside his head.
i knew.
because i had already thought it too.
the wind moved through the square, shaking the leaves above my head, but i stayed on the bench a little longer. the office light stayed on.
i didn’t go back inside. not that night.
and for the first time since i noticed his presence across the street, i wasn’t the one being watched.
the antagonist is a reader-supported publication. to receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
jaw dropping, as always