WIndow Visitor

Sometimes when the lights in the room had just gone out he would catch a glimpse of it; a white face with gaping holes where the eyes and mouth should have been. Always it was in the center pane of the bedroom window, looking in.

He had never been able to determine whether it disappeared because it had been found out, or if the rational part of his brain erased the vision as equally unacceptable and improbable.

He had seen it first on the night of his aunt's passing. The night he had heard his aunt speak to him in his bedroom. The night he had smelled her perfume.