The Light On The Window

                                    

                                          
I never believed in ghosts. At least, that's what I kept telling myself as I moved into the old apartment. The building was cheap, the rent was low, and the landlord swore it was the last unit in the complex that hadn't been renovated. He didn't mention much else, just that it had a "quirky charm."
I didn't care. I needed a place, and it was perfect—on the top floor, a spacious one-bedroom apartment with peeling wallpaper and cracked floorboards. The faint smell of dust and age clung to the air, but I shrugged it off. I was alone, and I liked it that way.
The first night was nothing special. I unpacked a few boxes, set up the furniture, and ate a quick dinner. By the time I went to bed, it was already dark outside, the streetlights casting long shadows through the apartment's small windows.
But then came the light.
At first, I thought it was the reflection of a car passing by, or maybe the glow from the streetlamp below. But no. This was different. A soft, steady light illuminated the window—just enough to create a glow that seemed to pulse in the darkness. It wasn't coming from outside; it was coming from inside.
I stood at the window, heart hammering in my chest. The light was dim, barely visible at first, but there it was—like something was trying to escape through the glass. I pulled the curtains shut, willing myself to shake it off. But no matter what I did, I couldn't forget it.
The next few nights were the same. The light would appear, faint and distant, but always present. It started to grow stronger, until one night, it was blinding—a searing white light that bathed the entire room. The glow leaked through every crack in the window frame, and I could feel it, like a presence in the room. A suffocating weight.
I tried to ignore it. I really did. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. My days grew restless, and my nights became filled with anxiety. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. What was it? Why was it happening?
One evening, I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to confront it. I grabbed my flashlight, my hands shaking, and I stood before the window, staring into the growing light. It pulsed like a heartbeat, growing stronger, then dimming again, like it was breathing.
I reached for the curtain and pulled it back.
The light wasn't a reflection, it wasn't a trick of the streetlamps. No, the source was something far worse.
There, on the other side of the glass, was a face.
A pale, thin face, pressed against the window. Its eyes were wide open, unblinking, and its mouth was stretched in a twisted grin. It looked like a person, but not quite. Its skin was sickly, almost translucent, and there were cracks running along its forehead, as though it had been scratched out of existence.
I froze.
The face stayed there, unmoving, staring at me. The light around it pulsed like a heartbeat, like it was coming from inside this thing—this... thing in the window.
I backed away from the glass, my mind spinning. I tried to scream, but my throat closed up. My feet refused to move. I could only watch as the face, still smiling, began to tap against the window with a cold, hollow sound. Tap... tap... tap...
I ran out of the apartment, into the hallway. The building felt impossibly silent. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't escape. I didn't know where I could go. The building was ancient, and no one else lived on the top floor. I had never seen another soul in the building since moving in.
I came back hours later, my heart still racing. The light had disappeared. The window was dark, as if nothing had happened. But I knew it wasn't over.
Days passed, and the light continued to come. Faint at first, then growing stronger each night, until it filled the entire apartment with an almost unbearable glow. Sometimes, I could hear it—the tapping, as if it was trying to break through.
But tonight, the tapping is louder. It's getting closer, faster. I can hear the scratching of nails on glass. The air is thick and cold, and I can feel the pressure of those eyes watching me.
Please. Someone, anyone... help me.
I'm begging you. I don't know how much longer I can last. I can't leave, I can't move, I'm trapped. The light on the window is too much for me to bear, and I fear it's coming inside.
I've left a note. If anyone finds this, please, I need help. It's not just a light. It's something else. Something that doesn't belong here.
Do not look out the window.