Page 5 of The Intruder

NOW

CASEY

I scream.

Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? I let out what sounds like quite a bloodcurdling scream if I do say so myself.

I back up several steps, practically tripping over my bed.

The candle slips from my fingers and immediately starts rolling.

I glance over at the dresser where I keep my gun, and then when I look back up…

The face is gone.

I rush over to the window, my heart pounding. I stare out into the darkening woods, searching for the person who was looking into my bedroom. But I don’t see anybody. No faces—not even a flicker of movement.

Nothing.

I stay by the window, searching the trees in the distance.

The woods look so foreboding at night—I don’t wander out there after dark, even though it’s most likely safe.

After all, aside from a single neighbor about five minutes away, I’m the only one who lives out here. It’s far off the beaten path.

So who was staring into my window?

Could it have been Rudy? That’s my first thought of course. Not only did I injure his shoulder, but I humiliated him by making him eat dirt. As satisfying as that was for me, it was a mistake. Rudy is the sort of guy who would hold a grudge.

But then again, Rudy isn’t stupid. Even if he hates me, he wouldn’t risk his life in a dangerous storm just to torment me.

Would he?

No, I doubt it. If I had to bet, Rudy is back at home, his socks propped up on his coffee table, his big toe poking through a large hole in the fabric.

(I have no proof, but I suspect every single one of his socks has at least one hole.) There’s one other person it could be, but I doubt he’d be lurking around behind my cabin.

Maybe I imagined it.

It definitely seemed real as I was staring out my window, but admittedly, my attention was focused on the candle.

And it’s getting very dark out—it’s hard to see much.

The rain hasn’t started in earnest yet, but there’s a strong drizzle going on.

Could that have given the illusion of a white face staring out at me?

I take a shaky breath. The more I think about it, the more certain I feel that I imagined it.

I live in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a storm brewing.

Why would a stranger be lurking outside my cabin tonight of all nights?

There wouldn’t be. It’s much more likely that the light from the moon hit the window in a funny way, giving the momentary appearance of a face, even though nobody was actually there.

That’s why they call it the man in the moon, right?

This damn storm is making me hallucinate.

I get down on the floor to try to fish the candle out from under my bed. After feeling around for a couple of minutes, my fingers wrap around a cylindrical object. I pull out my candle as well as quite a few dust bunnies. I do my best to blow off the dust, then I set up the candle on my windowsill.

There. I’m ready.

Now all there is to do is wait for this allegedly terrible storm to arrive.

I’ll do what I do every night, which is read one of my many books.

I own several shelves worth, but every few weeks, I drive into town to the local library across the street from the general store, and I swap out about a dozen titles.

I can read a book every other day. Back when I had a television, I had forgotten how much I used to love to read.

It’s one of the many bonuses to my self-imposed isolation.

I pour myself a glass of cold water from the filter in my refrigerator. (I don’t trust the water out here, which is another reason I can’t live off the grid.) I’m getting ready to head into the living room to pick up my book when something catches my attention:

Movement outside my house.

The fear I managed to tamp down in the bedroom comes rushing back full force.

But I remind myself not to panic. This is the woods.

It isn’t entirely unusual to see some form of life scampering about, right outside my cabin.

There are animals out here after all. Lots of rabbits and deer.

On one occasion, I actually saw a rabbit nuzzling with a deer, and I promptly named them Bambi and Thumper, but sadly, I failed to get a photo before they both scurried away.

My point is there are lots of animals around, and in theory, there’s nothing alarming about seeing something moving outside my window.

The movement was peripheral to the toolshed at the edge of my property.

While I have seen many rabbits scurrying around the shed, this was definitely not a rabbit or even a deer.

This was something distinctly human. And after seeing what looked like a face at my bedroom window, it’s especially unsettling.

What’s inside my toolshed? Is it possible that…there’s a person hiding in there?

A cold feeling slides down the back of my neck until all the hairs stand up straight. I lean closer to the window, peering into my darkening yard. It’s hard to see much because of my reflection in the glass, but if I cup my hands around my face, I can make out the shed clearly.

Just in time to see the shed door swing shut.

I jump back from the window, clutching the edge of the sink. Somebody is out there. There’s an intruder hiding in my toolshed, waiting to enter my home as soon as I crawl into bed and drift off into unconsciousness.

My heart is thumping loudly as I peer through the window one more time. I have a good view of the shed from my kitchen, which has a single window, and I don’t see any movement coming from within. The door is rattling in the growing wind—neither closed nor open.

This has got to be my imagination. Maybe it was just a bunch of floating leaves that coincidentally looked like a person. And that face was just the moonlight—I’m sure of it. As for the door to the toolshed, it isn’t surprising it would be opening and closing with the accelerating wind.

There’s nobody out there. There can’t be. They would have to have a death wish.

Just as I’m almost starting to relax, a jarring, pounding noise almost makes me jump out of my skin. I wasn’t sure about the movement by the shed, but that sound is distinctly real and human. There’s somebody here.

And they’re knocking on my door.