I witnessed a man murdered in his apartment and now the murderer is after me and I can’t tell anyone
I witnessed a man murdered in his apartment, and now the murderer is after me and I can’t tell anyone.
I guess for any of this to make sense you need to know who I am first. I don’t want to release much personal information about myself, privacy reasons and what not, but the biggest thing you should know is that people call me a creep. I don’t think I am a creep, I think there are much worse people out there who that should be reserved for. I prefer to call myself a very dedicated people watcher.
I first got into people watching some Friday night when I visited a house party on the roof of some guys apartment building. Everyone was off drinking, talking, and doing other things. I wasn’t. I only knew my friend and he had already headed off with some chick to her place so I was alone, left to watch the bustling city below us. I was considering leaving when motion in an apartment building opposite us caught my attention. It was a little far to see, smaller apartment buildings or places of business making up the distance, but I could see the light of the apartment on the top floor turn on.
The building itself was interesting, when I first moved to the city it had been a possible living place. All of the apartments were two rooms: one room had a kitchen, space for a table and chairs, and a lounge area. The second room was the bedroom with the adjacent en-suite. Nice swanky place, really expensive though. What made the apartment stand out though was the floor to ceiling window that panned the whole wall of both rooms, meaning if you didn’t close those curtains everyone could see everything that was happening inside.
Anyways, I divert. The light turned on and some guy entered. 40 something business looking man, dressed up in a suit and tie. He had a much younger lady on his arm and they were both heavily intoxicated. They kept giggling and bouncing off of random surfaces until they finally made their way to the bedroom. It was here that the man closed the bedroom door and bounced on the girl. But, and this is where it gets interesting, he didn’t shut the window. Maybe it was the fact he was intoxicated, or the fact he was in the tallest apartment for miles around, including the one I was standing on, and he felt no one could see. Either way he didn’t and I couldn’t help but watch. It was fascinating, watching this thing, this life happen and they had no clue I was even there.
Maybe 30 odd minutes passed before both of them passed out, lights still on. I was so engrossed in watching that I continued to stare at them, their small chests rising and fall in smooth motions, before I finally turned around to get a drink. I noticed that the numbers had drastically dwindled to only a few people and the host who were still here, talking softly. I turned to glance back at the building, but nothing more was happening. There were a few more lights on but it was just people walking around, reading, watching TV. I decided to leave.
I spent the next week going about my normal boring routine, but the closer Friday got the more I remembered what I had seen. I wondered how their life was going, would the man return with a different girl or the same, what was his business, her business. It drove me insane to the point that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It consumed my thoughts. I had to find out.
That Friday, exactly one week later, I returned to the party guys building. There was a key code outside but that did not prove to be a problem. I just came in behind this girl returning from her workout and watched her enter the code, jotting it down on my hand after she had left. Once I was on the roof I propped the door open with this piece of pipe and slid a chair over from a table and sat down. I had brought binoculars this time. While I had been able to make out everything fairly clearly, binoculars would certainly make it easier on my eyes.
I sat on that roof for almost the whole night. I arrived at 9 pm and didn’t leave until 4 am. Some of it was quiet boring, but I didn’t leave until everyone had come home and gone to sleep. I wanted to make sure I saw everything. I will admit, the majority of that night was nothing interesting, but I did get to meet the residents. I will mention some of the more interesting characters. Well, there was business man on the top floor. He seemed to have a very high end job guessing by the amount of rich people crap lying around. Two floors below him was an apartment of four Uni girls living off campus for what I guessed to be their third year. They were the type of preppy party girls I despised and they acted just as I had always guessed they would. They were interesting to watch, just to scoff at how naive they were to how the real world was. One floor below them was Mr. Boring. I hated watching him, but often he was one of the last people up. He would arrive home around 6, eat dinner from take-out boxes, and then work on his computer until 2 am. His apartment was also the most boring with almost nothing except books, a table, a chair, a bed, and some clothes that all looked the same. And finally, three floors below him, was a couple with a four year old son. I liked watching them. They were looking for a new apartment, newspaper clippings lying all about with red circles. The son made a mess everywhere and they were having trouble controlling him. Often, once the parents were asleep, the young boy would get up and draw on the wall. He was a smart kid and would cover it up with paper drawings hung up with blue tac. I liked watching him because he was cute.
I watched those people mainly because they were the ones who were too negligent to close their blinds, but also because I found them fascinating. And thus, my Friday night tradition was born. Every Friday I would bring my binoculars, sneak upstairs, and watch these people live their lives. It was addicting, intoxicating. Like reading a good book, but it never had to end.
The first few weeks were difficult in terms of trying to get out of plans in order to go watch. The first two people who asked why I couldn’t come I stupidly told them the truth. They never spoke to me again. In response I developed a more believable lie and just told everyone it until they stopped inviting me out on Friday nights altogether.
I did this for three months. Every Friday I was there, and I learned many different things. For instance: Business man was married with three teenage daughters. I know cause one day his wife and kids visited. This didn’t really seem to matter much to him though as he continued the habit of bringing that same girl back to his apartment. I think they worked together since they were both always wearing office outfits. The slutty uni girls were having disputes and two had moved out. Mr. Boring never changed his routine and at this point I watched him because something interesting had to happen at some point. The couple with the toddler had bought an apartment and had started packing, I was sad to see them go.
There was this one particular Friday night which is the reason I am writing this, and the reason I am huddled on my bathroom floor so let me just start. It had been a particularly slow night, business man must have had trouble with his lady friend because she was absent and he went to bed early, the Uni girls were still out, and the couple had sent the son away that night but they remembered to close their curtains before turning in so no entertainment from them. This left Mr. Boring, which meant I was in for a slow night so I put in my head phones in to listen to a pod-cast.
Around 1 am Mr. Boring took a book and went and laid on his bed, facing the window so his back was to the door of his bedroom. At 1:30 am the door opened. This caught my attention, Mr. Boring had never had someone over before, I didn’t think anyone even had a key. Mr. Boring didn’t seem to notice, not turning over, completely engrossed in his book. It was then that I noticed who had entered. It seemed to be a man, but was difficult to tell. He wore baggy jeans, dirty black sneakers, and a baggy black hoodie with the hood up so it obscured his face. He walked slowly through the dinning room, veering just slightly so as to go to the kitchen counters. The man picked up a knife from where a rack of them was stored and studied it, turning it over in his gloved hands while the moonlight glinting off it ominously. I then watched, my arms trembling slightly, as he made his way into the room Mr. Boring was reading in.
I couldn’t help but watch although doing so gave me a sickly feeling. As the man crept closer I willed Mr. Boring to turn around, to need to use the restroom, to decide to go to sleep, anything. But he didn’t, he just lay on his side blissfully unaware.
In one smooth motion the shrouded man raised the knife and brought it down in Mr. Boring’s side. Mr. Boring reacted in a spasm clutching his side, eyes and mouth open in what I could only imagine was a scream. He rolled over and kicked out at the attacker, who gave a slight recoil but Mr. Boring was by no means strong and the attacker was very quickly back in control. He advanced on Mr. Boring, creeping closer as Mr. Boring jumped around to the other side of the bed, the side closest to the window so that his back was pressed up against it and I had full body view of what was going on.
Mr. Boring grabbed everything he could from his night stand, books, lamp, clock, figurines, whatever, and threw them at the attacker. But the shrouded man dodged every one of them, his wiry frame making him unnaturally quick. In a matter of seconds he was standing next to Mr. Boring, and before he could even react the shrouded man brought the knife down again into Mr. Boring’s chest. Mr. Boring fell to his knees in pain, clutching the blood with one hand and the other raised in a feeble attempt to ward off the attack but the knife kept coming, stabbing at the chest again and again, spattering the window through which I watched as the blood dripped down slowly. It was gruesome. Even after Mr. Boring was down, obviously dead, the killer kept stabbing, the chest, the neck, the head, slashing the arms and legs until his body was beyond mutilated.
Finally it was done. The killer stood up slowly, looking down at his handiwork. He stood there for a full minute, just not moving.
I was in complete shock, shakily I got to my feet and in a trance like state I backed away as quickly as I could towards the door. It was at this moment that the killer snapped his head towards the window and stared out it. My knees buckled and I felt all the blood rush from my face as I realized he saw me, the moon silhouetting my dark shape upon the rooftop.
I could see his face now, the hood having dropped back slightly. He was pale, pale as the snow in the street below, which made the blood that spattered his face stand out as a pattern to the gruesome event I had just witnessed. He cheeks were sunken in and curved around his face so he looked just like a skinless skull. His eyes were white, and without my binoculars I couldn’t see any sort of iris’s within. Our eyes collided, each studying the others face his thin lips spread across his face farther than I thought possible into what was a sick grin.
It was at that point I ran. Not heroic, I know, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to look at his face anymore, or give him anymore time to look at mine so I just ran. I ran down all 30 flights of stairs, through the car park until I found my car and drove away as fast as the I could.
Two weeks passed since I saw that and I hadn’t gone back. Actually, except to go to work I had barely left my home. Every night when I laid down to go to sleep I would see it, Mr. Boring’s twisted face and mutilated body. The killer, standing over him, dripping with blood, looking at me. I tried to forget it, I really did, but the memory just haunted me
You may be wondering why I didn’t go to the police, I had seen the killer’s face after all. I guess the answer is fairly simple, I wasn’t exactly fully exempt of the law myself. I had been going up there for so long, watching those people, no doubt that would be found out and it could cause me some problems. I didn’t want to face anyone who could judge me for that, especially the people who I was watching. I didn’t want to see their faces twisted in disgust at me, they were the only continual people in my life who I could judge and they could not judge me back. I didn’t want to see that on their face. Besides I hadn’t seen the killer since and from following it on the news they had some pretty good suspects and leads so I didn’t feel a need for me to interfere. I just wanted to put it all behind me and live my life, and it seemed I could do that.
At least that was what I thought, until one Tuesday while I was leaving work.
I had just started to get on the tram to take me home when I spotted him out of the window, standing there on the side walk. He was a small framed man with greasy brown hair sticking to the sides of his thin face. I almost didn’t recognize him, had almost forgotten him, until he smiled that same ghastly smile at me and I felt my blood run cold. Just as my tram started and pulled away he began to wave to me, head following me until the tram turned a corner and I lost sight of him.
I was so shocked I couldn’t stop shaking all over again. All memories of that horrid night returned in full and I sank down in the seat, overwhelmed with emotion and fright.
When I returned to work the next morning, beginning to walk towards the building I saw the man still standing there, same place as the night before. He spotted me and began to smile, walking towards me at disturbingly slow pace to how fast I knew he could move. Had he been there all night? It looked like he had, but I didn’t give it much thought. Stumbling over myself I turned and ran back towards the tram. I quickly hopped on one right as it was leaving the stop, not caring where it was going. I had to pay a fine for not having a ticket, which I was more than willing to do. I was also more than willing to call my job right then and there and quit.
Now this is where the past catches up with the present. It has been four days since I saw him at my work and I have barely left the house since, yet it has gotten worse. I started writing this yesterday because I saw him at my local grocery store when I went for food. He was just standing there. I was not sure if he had seen me but I didn’t want to take that chance. I knew he was coming closer and I wanted some recording of what was happening. That brings us too today.
Typically I keep all of my windows closed throughout the day but I had gotten tired of the continual artificial light and had opened the blinds of a few today. As it was growing dark I went around all closing them all again as I took a break from writing this. That was when I saw him.
The man was there, in the street in front of my house. Staring up at the window. I froze mid close when my eyes fell on him. He had something in his hand, something that the moonlight glinted off of. He smiled at me, but this time I could see every detail of it, how it looked as if someone had shoved two hooks at the corners of his mouth and pulled, how the skin looked ripped from even doing this motion, how he did in fact have irises, but they were so small and so black that the whites of the eyes overpowered them, how his tongue, an unhealthy yellow color, licked his teeth and lips upon sighting me.
Chills ran up and down my spine and forgetting the curtain I rushed down stairs to lock the door, then lock it again, then again. Every time I checked out the window and he still stood there, watching me do this. Then slowly he pulled the hood of the jacket he wore over so that his face was shrouded in darkness, just as when I had first seen him, but this time I could see the glint of the whites of his eyes.
Quickly I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife then hurried to the bathroom upstairs and locked the door. That is now where I am, huddled on the floor as I try and type this ending. I want to get this out, I want someone to know what happened and why. I have called the police, told them there was an intruder. They are coming, but I don’t think they will be here in time. As I typed that sentence I heard him break a window and ransack downstairs, undoubtedly searching for me. He is now coming up the stairs, oh gosh I can hear him laughing, the knife scraping the wall.
He is outside the door now, shaking the knob. He is taunting me, calling my name. It is starting to break.
If you see this pray for me.
I don’t think I will survive.