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"Uh well not too sure what to call it so use your imaginations :-P"

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Mon 16/02/04 at 13:07
Regular
"Beaten with sticks"
Posts: 638
“What are you looking at?”
I turned my head and saw my grandmother staring at me with her usual concern. Her frail hands pulled a stray hair out of her eyes that had escaped from the tightly wound bun atop her head.
“Nothing,” I answered. Though she knew very well that I was not staring so intently out the window at nothing. There was something. I was watching an eerie man standing by the Oak tree near our front yard, however, I just chose not to tell her, I’m not sure why.
“I am going out to the grocery store, would you like to come?”
“No, I have homework to do.” I loved my grandmother. She took care of me since I was four. If she had not, I surely would have ended up in the hands of some overcrowded foster home after my parents died. Some would think a sixteen-year-old girl would be bit much for a sixty-eight-year-old woman, but she disagreed. Despite her meticulously ordered and consistent ways, she made room for me.
I turned away from her and continued to stare out the window. That man continued to stand there. He was about twenty feet away, standing like a soldier at attention beside the tree. His eyes were empty and dark. They were sunken into his head with dark circles beneath them as though he had never known one night of sleep. His teeth were strange and deformed, like those of a flesh-eating animal, but without the canines. He was very tall and thin. His arms were long, longer than that of a normal man. His fingers were skinny and long, too, like a skeleton. He wore dark clothes that draped off his skinny body. His eyes stared out from his pallor skin that was stretched over his sunken face. He showed no expression. He never moved, he just stood there. He saw me staring at him. Normally, if you catch eyes with a person staring at you, they will then turn away. This man did not. I clutched the edge of the curtain by the window with my fingers. The man stared back at me not blinking, nor moving. He showed no expression. I watched him hoping to see a smile, a smirk, a sneer, but saw nothing. His dark eyes, never turned from my gaze. I finally turned away. I pulled the curtain closed.
I walked into my room to get my math book. I had to do something to get my mind off the weird man standing outside of our front yard. Grandma had already left out the back door to go to the grocery store, so she probably never saw the dark man staring at our house. I grabbed a bag of potato chips from the cupboard and opened the fridge door with a tug. I stared inside indecisively until I finally grabbed a soda and returned to the dining room to sit down and study. Algebra. Ugh. I crinkled my nose at the book with my look of dismay before I reluctantly opened the textbook. Joe traveled 200 miles at a certain speed in his car. Had he gone 40 miles faster, the trip would take 2 hours less. Find the speed of the car.
“CRACK!” A loud noise like a wooden board being split in two sounded outside. I sprung up from my chair and tore the curtain open. Nothing. The strange man was gone and it was now dark out so I could not see much. I opened the door and poked my head out, but I had felt a bit weary about going outside. Adrenaline shot through my body as I began to quiver with fear.
“Hello,” I called out, “is there someone out there?” There can’t be anyone out there. It is late and we live in the country. It must have been an old tree branch breaking off. I surely was just a little spooked after that scary man stood outside our house so long. I returned to my book. Joe traveled 200 miles at a . . . again, a noise. This time like a rapping on wood from far away. It was faint, so I paid no attention.
“rap, rap, rap, rap” There it goes again. I slammed the book closed.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself under my breath. I put my shoes on and went outside. I stopped on the porch and looked around. I did not see anyone. How very strange? I admit, living in the country you hear all kinds of noises: owls, crickets, beetles, but this was weird. I started down the steps when I heard the noise again. “Rap, rap, rap.” I stopped and stood completely still as I listened to the faint sound, trying to figure out where it was coming from. “Rap, rap, rap, rap.” I continued down the steps when suddenly, “SLAM,” The door swung shut. My body was flooded with terror. My heart pounded aggressively as though it were trying desperately to escape my chest. I gasped and charged up the steps in panic. I tried to open the door, but the knob would not move. It was not as though it were locked, when the door is locked, the knob still turns. The door just would not open. No matter how hard I tried to turn the knob, it would not budge. I yanked and pulled on the door shaking with fear while I felt beads of sweat race down my face. “Rap, rap, rap.” It was closer now! It was closer. What do I do? I was struck with fear. I turned around to run around the house to try to get in the back door when I froze where I stood. There he was! The strange man. His pale skin was stretched over the protruding veins in his neck. His sunken, dark eyes filled me with horror. I screamed in terror, while he continued to stand there emotionless. His lips curled over his deformed teeth. His skeleton-like fingers clutched the end of a stick he used as a cane. I tried to run, but I could not move. I can’ t move, I can’t move!! I screamed again, but this time no sound came out. Only a faint, whispered screech. Oh dear God.
Suddenly, I heard a noise. I turned my head to see an owl dive from the trees and sweep through the air, chasing prey no doubt. I turned my head back to where the man was standing , but he disappeared. He was gone. The absence of his corpse-like face allowed enough fear to dissipate so that I could move again. I leaped down from the steps and ran around the house to the back door faster than I think I ever ran in my life. I grabbed the door knob, turned and pulled . . . it opened. Relief filled my body as I ran inside and locked the door behind me. Tears streamed down my face. I was so scared. I ran to the phone to call the police. I got as far as dialing nine when I thought what on Earth am I going to tell them?? I’m 16 and I am scared because there was a man standing outside my house. There are no laws against standing there. He didn’t do anything. He was just really strange looking. I was surely overreacting. I hung up the phone. I went to the window and pulled the curtain closed again. I figured grandma would be home soon. I would just have to focus on something else till she does.
I went into the livingroom and I fell back onto the couch. I grabbed the remote off the end table and turned on the TV. I normally do not watch much television, but I really needed something mundane to get my mind off the scary man right now. I flipped through the channels and while doing so, I was reminded why I do not watch much television. I soon gave up the hope of finding any suitable entertainment on television and walked over to the bookcase. Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Clive Barker, Anne Rice, in my state of mind at that time, I did not think any of these would calm me. Grandma would drink hot tea when she was relaxing at night. I figured, perhaps, I should give it a try. I went into the kitchen and proceeded to boil a kettle of water. I went in the cupboard and grabbed a hold of a box of Chamomile tea when there was a knock at the door. Grandma’s home!!
“Coming.” I reached for the doorknob when I paused, Grandma doesn’t knock to come into her own house?? Who in the world could have been out there. In considering tonight’s transgressions, I thought I better not be too quick to open that door to whoever might be standing out there. “Who is it?” A moment passes. No answer. “Who’s there?” I walked back toward the kitchen.
“Knock, knock, knock.” That feeling of warmth ran through me as my body began to tremble again. Not again. “Knock, knock, knock.”
“Who is it?” I was so scared. There was no way I was stepping foot outside again. I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the curtain by the door. I paused and took a deep breath in an attempt to muster up some courage. I swung the curtain away from the window and his face was right against the window!! His large dark eyes looked into mine. He opened his mouth and I could see his dog-like teeth. He moaned as he slammed both his hands against the window. I screamed at the top of my lungs in complete terror. Adrenaline shot through my body as fear overtook me once again and left me frozen before that face of anguished death. Oh dear God, who is he?! What does he want?! I screamed again and turned away. I dropped to the ground on my hands and knees. I began to sob uncontrollably. God, just make him go away. I got up and ran away from the window never looking back at it. I just could not bear to see his awful face again. I charged up the stairs to my room. I collapsed on my bed and held my pillow in my arms like a frightened small child. I squeezed my teary eyes shut just hoping this night would end.
An hour passed, what had felt like days.
“Jeneane, come help me with these groceries!”
“Grandma!” I said to myself in a voice of relief. “I’m coming!” I shouted back. As I ran down the steps I heard a loud thump. When I ran into the kitchen I found my grandma collapsed on the floor with two spilled bags of groceries lying on each side of her. The back door was left wide open. She was pale and covered with sweat. “Grandma!” I called out to her in panic, but she did not respond. I checked her pulse and she did have one. I ran to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, What is your emergency?”
“It’s my grandma. She’s passed out on the floor.” I stayed on line with the dispatcher, answering questions until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics came in and asked me a bunch of questions. There wasn’t much I could tell them. No pre-existing illnesses, no hospitalizations, she had been perfectly healthy. In fact, most people were astounded at how healthy and active she was at her age. That was part the reason the courts so readily gave her custody of me. I could not make any sense of this. They took her blood pressure, pulse and listened to her heart. They started an IV on her and then strapped her to a backboard and then to the stretcher. I followed them out as they loaded her into the ambulance. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I said as I headed toward grandma’s car.
I could not stop myself from crying as I drove down the road. Not grandma, too. I could not bear to lose her. She raised me since I was little. I could only comfort myself with the thought that everything was going to be alright. After the bizarre evening I had though, I was by no means prepared for this.
When I arrived at the hospital emergency room, they had me stay in the waiting room for a long time. Each minute just dragged on. Finally, what felt like several hours later, the doctor came out to talk to me.
“Can I see her?”
“She is still unconscious. We are running some tests now to see what is wrong with her.”
“Is she gong to be okay?”
“We are doing all we can. You should go home and get some rest. We will call you when we find something out.”
This brought me no comfort. We are doing all we can? What does that mean? Does that mean She is going to die and we are procrastinating telling you, or does it mean She’ll be fine, but if she isn’ t, we don’t want to be liable for being wrong? Surely they must know something.
I drove home that night with my cheeks red and irritated from my salty tears running down them so long. My eyes were red and puffy. I just wanted to go to bed and awaken to find that this entire day did not happen.
I pulled into the driveway and headed toward the house. I scanned the yard for the strange man, but did not see him. I went in the house, went upstairs and collapsed into my bed. I didn’t even take my shoes off, I just curled up exhausted, with my pillow in my arms and fell asleep.
The hospital had kept grandma for a week. No one really asked if I would be okay by myself. I suppose the hospital assumed I had parents here to take care of me. But, I am pretty self-sufficient and I can take care of myself (that is, if there are no strange men lurking around my house.) I just went about my daily routines, containing grief with the constant reminder everything will be okay.
When the hospital finally called and said that I could pick up grandma, I was ecstatic. I drove down to the hospital right away. However, when I arrived, things were not as joyous as I had convinced myself they would be.
“Your grandma is dying. She has a disease, but we don’t know what it is. We could stay here and continue to run tests, but she elected to go home.”
“No, no. Why can’t you make her stay till she’s better!?” I choked back the tears. This can’t be happening.
“No, we can’t do that. She is an adult and she is alert and orientated. She has the right to refuse treatment. And, to be completely honest, there really is not much we can do for her. The prognosis does not look good.”
I could not believe this was happening. I went up to her hospital bed. She was pale and her eyes were sunken into her head. She looked like she had not eaten or slept in a week. My poor grandmother. She looked like she was in pain. She looked up at me with an expression of relief on her face. She smiled at me and took my hand.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. He voice was cracked and broken. I helped her out of bed. The nurse came in and we both helped her get dressed. I put her arm around my neck as the nurse and I aided her to a wheelchair. I walked beside her as the nurse wheeled her out to the car. No words were exchanged. The silence said more than I cared for it to.
As the weeks went by, grandma’s health worsened. Yesterday, I went up to her room. She looked at me with a blank stare. Her skin was tight against the bones in her body. No matter how much she ate, her muscles and fat atrophied. No matter how much she slept, her eyes still had dark circles under them. She was so very pale. I put my hand on hers. She looked at me with no expression. She said no words. Just looked at me. Just stared. At that moment, I recalled the night that the strange man had been leering through our window.
This morning at grandma’s funeral, I could not get the face of that man out of my head. He kept haunting my thoughts. Those dark, shadowy eyes peering out form his pale, sunken face. He was no man at all. He was not there for me. He was there for her. He was disease. He was pain. He was death.
Tue 17/02/04 at 09:06
Regular
Posts: 14,437
He's a white wannabe rapper from Sunderland. And he sucks. Muchly.

Check out www.gejay.co.uk for all the, er, fun.
Tue 17/02/04 at 08:59
Regular
"Beaten with sticks"
Posts: 638
Hmm as I'm not sure who he is (Not been on here for a while, much has changed) I will assume that my image of a spotty 'Cool Cal' like death....*Screams (Girlishly) and runs*
Mon 16/02/04 at 21:49
Regular
Posts: 14,437
"He was disease. He was pain. He was GeJay."
Mon 16/02/04 at 21:15
Regular
Posts: 2,774
The "Rap rap rap rap rap" sound might have been...

GeJay!!!
Mon 16/02/04 at 14:09
Regular
"Going nowhere fast"
Posts: 6,574
Emperor Xerxes Q.C. wrote:
> Yes, yes, but what, sir, was the moral of this little tale?

If you see a scary man as described above, don't run away, just ask him who he is there for.
Mon 16/02/04 at 13:59
Regular
"Beaten with sticks"
Posts: 638
Hmm to be honest it hasn't got a moral, I get quite bored most of the time (yes yes my life is riveting) so now that I have broken the strings on my guitar and refuse to get new ones at retail price I can't play it and annoy the neighbours...so I wrote a story. *shrugs* it's just what I do when I get bored...
Mon 16/02/04 at 13:44
"Mimmargh!"
Posts: 2,929
Yes, yes, but what, sir, was the moral of this little tale?
Mon 16/02/04 at 13:18
Regular
Posts: 14,437
That was really good. I'm glad I stuck with reading it.

Well Done.
Mon 16/02/04 at 13:08
Regular
"Beaten with sticks"
Posts: 638
Darn you SR, deleting my excessive use of punctuation in the form of paragraphs! *shakes fist*
Mon 16/02/04 at 13:07
Regular
"Beaten with sticks"
Posts: 638
“What are you looking at?”
I turned my head and saw my grandmother staring at me with her usual concern. Her frail hands pulled a stray hair out of her eyes that had escaped from the tightly wound bun atop her head.
“Nothing,” I answered. Though she knew very well that I was not staring so intently out the window at nothing. There was something. I was watching an eerie man standing by the Oak tree near our front yard, however, I just chose not to tell her, I’m not sure why.
“I am going out to the grocery store, would you like to come?”
“No, I have homework to do.” I loved my grandmother. She took care of me since I was four. If she had not, I surely would have ended up in the hands of some overcrowded foster home after my parents died. Some would think a sixteen-year-old girl would be bit much for a sixty-eight-year-old woman, but she disagreed. Despite her meticulously ordered and consistent ways, she made room for me.
I turned away from her and continued to stare out the window. That man continued to stand there. He was about twenty feet away, standing like a soldier at attention beside the tree. His eyes were empty and dark. They were sunken into his head with dark circles beneath them as though he had never known one night of sleep. His teeth were strange and deformed, like those of a flesh-eating animal, but without the canines. He was very tall and thin. His arms were long, longer than that of a normal man. His fingers were skinny and long, too, like a skeleton. He wore dark clothes that draped off his skinny body. His eyes stared out from his pallor skin that was stretched over his sunken face. He showed no expression. He never moved, he just stood there. He saw me staring at him. Normally, if you catch eyes with a person staring at you, they will then turn away. This man did not. I clutched the edge of the curtain by the window with my fingers. The man stared back at me not blinking, nor moving. He showed no expression. I watched him hoping to see a smile, a smirk, a sneer, but saw nothing. His dark eyes, never turned from my gaze. I finally turned away. I pulled the curtain closed.
I walked into my room to get my math book. I had to do something to get my mind off the weird man standing outside of our front yard. Grandma had already left out the back door to go to the grocery store, so she probably never saw the dark man staring at our house. I grabbed a bag of potato chips from the cupboard and opened the fridge door with a tug. I stared inside indecisively until I finally grabbed a soda and returned to the dining room to sit down and study. Algebra. Ugh. I crinkled my nose at the book with my look of dismay before I reluctantly opened the textbook. Joe traveled 200 miles at a certain speed in his car. Had he gone 40 miles faster, the trip would take 2 hours less. Find the speed of the car.
“CRACK!” A loud noise like a wooden board being split in two sounded outside. I sprung up from my chair and tore the curtain open. Nothing. The strange man was gone and it was now dark out so I could not see much. I opened the door and poked my head out, but I had felt a bit weary about going outside. Adrenaline shot through my body as I began to quiver with fear.
“Hello,” I called out, “is there someone out there?” There can’t be anyone out there. It is late and we live in the country. It must have been an old tree branch breaking off. I surely was just a little spooked after that scary man stood outside our house so long. I returned to my book. Joe traveled 200 miles at a . . . again, a noise. This time like a rapping on wood from far away. It was faint, so I paid no attention.
“rap, rap, rap, rap” There it goes again. I slammed the book closed.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself under my breath. I put my shoes on and went outside. I stopped on the porch and looked around. I did not see anyone. How very strange? I admit, living in the country you hear all kinds of noises: owls, crickets, beetles, but this was weird. I started down the steps when I heard the noise again. “Rap, rap, rap.” I stopped and stood completely still as I listened to the faint sound, trying to figure out where it was coming from. “Rap, rap, rap, rap.” I continued down the steps when suddenly, “SLAM,” The door swung shut. My body was flooded with terror. My heart pounded aggressively as though it were trying desperately to escape my chest. I gasped and charged up the steps in panic. I tried to open the door, but the knob would not move. It was not as though it were locked, when the door is locked, the knob still turns. The door just would not open. No matter how hard I tried to turn the knob, it would not budge. I yanked and pulled on the door shaking with fear while I felt beads of sweat race down my face. “Rap, rap, rap.” It was closer now! It was closer. What do I do? I was struck with fear. I turned around to run around the house to try to get in the back door when I froze where I stood. There he was! The strange man. His pale skin was stretched over the protruding veins in his neck. His sunken, dark eyes filled me with horror. I screamed in terror, while he continued to stand there emotionless. His lips curled over his deformed teeth. His skeleton-like fingers clutched the end of a stick he used as a cane. I tried to run, but I could not move. I can’ t move, I can’t move!! I screamed again, but this time no sound came out. Only a faint, whispered screech. Oh dear God.
Suddenly, I heard a noise. I turned my head to see an owl dive from the trees and sweep through the air, chasing prey no doubt. I turned my head back to where the man was standing , but he disappeared. He was gone. The absence of his corpse-like face allowed enough fear to dissipate so that I could move again. I leaped down from the steps and ran around the house to the back door faster than I think I ever ran in my life. I grabbed the door knob, turned and pulled . . . it opened. Relief filled my body as I ran inside and locked the door behind me. Tears streamed down my face. I was so scared. I ran to the phone to call the police. I got as far as dialing nine when I thought what on Earth am I going to tell them?? I’m 16 and I am scared because there was a man standing outside my house. There are no laws against standing there. He didn’t do anything. He was just really strange looking. I was surely overreacting. I hung up the phone. I went to the window and pulled the curtain closed again. I figured grandma would be home soon. I would just have to focus on something else till she does.
I went into the livingroom and I fell back onto the couch. I grabbed the remote off the end table and turned on the TV. I normally do not watch much television, but I really needed something mundane to get my mind off the scary man right now. I flipped through the channels and while doing so, I was reminded why I do not watch much television. I soon gave up the hope of finding any suitable entertainment on television and walked over to the bookcase. Edgar Allen Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Clive Barker, Anne Rice, in my state of mind at that time, I did not think any of these would calm me. Grandma would drink hot tea when she was relaxing at night. I figured, perhaps, I should give it a try. I went into the kitchen and proceeded to boil a kettle of water. I went in the cupboard and grabbed a hold of a box of Chamomile tea when there was a knock at the door. Grandma’s home!!
“Coming.” I reached for the doorknob when I paused, Grandma doesn’t knock to come into her own house?? Who in the world could have been out there. In considering tonight’s transgressions, I thought I better not be too quick to open that door to whoever might be standing out there. “Who is it?” A moment passes. No answer. “Who’s there?” I walked back toward the kitchen.
“Knock, knock, knock.” That feeling of warmth ran through me as my body began to tremble again. Not again. “Knock, knock, knock.”
“Who is it?” I was so scared. There was no way I was stepping foot outside again. I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the curtain by the door. I paused and took a deep breath in an attempt to muster up some courage. I swung the curtain away from the window and his face was right against the window!! His large dark eyes looked into mine. He opened his mouth and I could see his dog-like teeth. He moaned as he slammed both his hands against the window. I screamed at the top of my lungs in complete terror. Adrenaline shot through my body as fear overtook me once again and left me frozen before that face of anguished death. Oh dear God, who is he?! What does he want?! I screamed again and turned away. I dropped to the ground on my hands and knees. I began to sob uncontrollably. God, just make him go away. I got up and ran away from the window never looking back at it. I just could not bear to see his awful face again. I charged up the stairs to my room. I collapsed on my bed and held my pillow in my arms like a frightened small child. I squeezed my teary eyes shut just hoping this night would end.
An hour passed, what had felt like days.
“Jeneane, come help me with these groceries!”
“Grandma!” I said to myself in a voice of relief. “I’m coming!” I shouted back. As I ran down the steps I heard a loud thump. When I ran into the kitchen I found my grandma collapsed on the floor with two spilled bags of groceries lying on each side of her. The back door was left wide open. She was pale and covered with sweat. “Grandma!” I called out to her in panic, but she did not respond. I checked her pulse and she did have one. I ran to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, What is your emergency?”
“It’s my grandma. She’s passed out on the floor.” I stayed on line with the dispatcher, answering questions until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics came in and asked me a bunch of questions. There wasn’t much I could tell them. No pre-existing illnesses, no hospitalizations, she had been perfectly healthy. In fact, most people were astounded at how healthy and active she was at her age. That was part the reason the courts so readily gave her custody of me. I could not make any sense of this. They took her blood pressure, pulse and listened to her heart. They started an IV on her and then strapped her to a backboard and then to the stretcher. I followed them out as they loaded her into the ambulance. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” I said as I headed toward grandma’s car.
I could not stop myself from crying as I drove down the road. Not grandma, too. I could not bear to lose her. She raised me since I was little. I could only comfort myself with the thought that everything was going to be alright. After the bizarre evening I had though, I was by no means prepared for this.
When I arrived at the hospital emergency room, they had me stay in the waiting room for a long time. Each minute just dragged on. Finally, what felt like several hours later, the doctor came out to talk to me.
“Can I see her?”
“She is still unconscious. We are running some tests now to see what is wrong with her.”
“Is she gong to be okay?”
“We are doing all we can. You should go home and get some rest. We will call you when we find something out.”
This brought me no comfort. We are doing all we can? What does that mean? Does that mean She is going to die and we are procrastinating telling you, or does it mean She’ll be fine, but if she isn’ t, we don’t want to be liable for being wrong? Surely they must know something.
I drove home that night with my cheeks red and irritated from my salty tears running down them so long. My eyes were red and puffy. I just wanted to go to bed and awaken to find that this entire day did not happen.
I pulled into the driveway and headed toward the house. I scanned the yard for the strange man, but did not see him. I went in the house, went upstairs and collapsed into my bed. I didn’t even take my shoes off, I just curled up exhausted, with my pillow in my arms and fell asleep.
The hospital had kept grandma for a week. No one really asked if I would be okay by myself. I suppose the hospital assumed I had parents here to take care of me. But, I am pretty self-sufficient and I can take care of myself (that is, if there are no strange men lurking around my house.) I just went about my daily routines, containing grief with the constant reminder everything will be okay.
When the hospital finally called and said that I could pick up grandma, I was ecstatic. I drove down to the hospital right away. However, when I arrived, things were not as joyous as I had convinced myself they would be.
“Your grandma is dying. She has a disease, but we don’t know what it is. We could stay here and continue to run tests, but she elected to go home.”
“No, no. Why can’t you make her stay till she’s better!?” I choked back the tears. This can’t be happening.
“No, we can’t do that. She is an adult and she is alert and orientated. She has the right to refuse treatment. And, to be completely honest, there really is not much we can do for her. The prognosis does not look good.”
I could not believe this was happening. I went up to her hospital bed. She was pale and her eyes were sunken into her head. She looked like she had not eaten or slept in a week. My poor grandmother. She looked like she was in pain. She looked up at me with an expression of relief on her face. She smiled at me and took my hand.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. He voice was cracked and broken. I helped her out of bed. The nurse came in and we both helped her get dressed. I put her arm around my neck as the nurse and I aided her to a wheelchair. I walked beside her as the nurse wheeled her out to the car. No words were exchanged. The silence said more than I cared for it to.
As the weeks went by, grandma’s health worsened. Yesterday, I went up to her room. She looked at me with a blank stare. Her skin was tight against the bones in her body. No matter how much she ate, her muscles and fat atrophied. No matter how much she slept, her eyes still had dark circles under them. She was so very pale. I put my hand on hers. She looked at me with no expression. She said no words. Just looked at me. Just stared. At that moment, I recalled the night that the strange man had been leering through our window.
This morning at grandma’s funeral, I could not get the face of that man out of my head. He kept haunting my thoughts. Those dark, shadowy eyes peering out form his pale, sunken face. He was no man at all. He was not there for me. He was there for her. He was disease. He was pain. He was death.

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