Story 77
The Neighbor
The neighbor keeps watching.
It was a small, cheap one-room apartment.
One morning, I opened my window, and there he was—the neighbor—sticking his upper body out of his own window, staring straight at me.
His skin was pale, as if he had never seen the sun. Even in summer, his face and the arms peeking out from his short-sleeved shirt were unnaturally white. His unusually long hair, despite being a man, was slicked back with pomade.
His eyes were wide open and glaring.
Sharp, predatory, like a cat in daylight—he was staring at me with those two wide, piercing eyes.
Our eyes clearly met.
He angled his body skillfully, peeking into my room as if he were inspecting it.
Since then, I’ve been both afraid and fascinated.
I hesitate to open the curtains, yet I keep doing it anyway, almost compelled to see if he’s peeking.
I can’t help it—I want to see those glaring, glittering eyes.
