The Window Across The Street

Elias noticed the light because every other window on Bellweather Street had gone dark.

It was nearly midnight, and rain had turned the road into a long black mirror. From his apartment on the third floor, he could see the reflection of the streetlamps trembling in the water below.

Across the street, on the top floor of an old brick building, one yellow window remained lit.

Elias had lived there for six months. He knew most of the ordinary movements of the neighborhood by now: the baker leaving before sunrise, the old man walking his dog after dinner, the woman from number fourteen watering plants even when it rained.

But he had never seen anyone in that room.

Tonight, someone was standing behind the glass.

A woman.

She did not move.

At first Elias thought she was looking at the street. Then, slowly, she raised one hand.

She was looking directly at him.

Elias stepped away from his own window.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then curiosity pulled him back.

The opposite window was empty.

He laughed quietly at himself and closed the curtains.

In the morning, he asked the landlord about the building across the street.

“The top floor?” the landlord said.

“Yes.”

The old man frowned.

“No one lives there.”

Elias smiled.

“I saw someone.”

The landlord did not smile back.

“That apartment has been empty for eleven years.”