Excerpt

Watcher

A person ought to be able to expect a modicum of privacy in their own home. Especially someone like me, who lives on a corner lot in a small rural neighborhood where the houses are more than a few inches apart from each other. I should be free from all prying eyes. But I’m not. The people across the street, they act so innocent, just the perfect little nuclear family, but they’re always watching me. Always spying on me, and I don’t appreciate it one bit.

It started off innocently enough. I moved into my house after they already lived in theirs. As all my things were brought in, I saw them out in their yard watching, all cheery smiles. They had it all set up to look normal: a child’s plastic pool filled with water and screaming kids, the two parents and a grandmother sitting nearby chatting and minding the children. But every time I looked at them, they were looking at me, those fake smiles on their faces. Unnerved, I waved at them, hoping that would stop the stares. Maybe that day it did, because shortly after, they moved their gathering to the backyard; I had to lean out of my bedroom window to be sure, but I confirmed that’s where they had moved.

But they just proved bolder the very next day, eyeing me and my house every time they stepped out of their house. Walking to the mailbox? Looking at me. Backing out the car? Looking at me. Digging in the flower bed? Looking at me. When I’d catch them looking, they would smile and wave, trying to make me think I was the one with a problem, but I wasn’t the one spying on my neighbors, now was I?

As the year dragged on, they got sneakier about their spying. No longer did they linger on the doorstep to say goodbye, obviously casting their gazes over to my home. No longer did they use an excessive amount of caution and slow speed while backing out of their driveway. But even still, I was vigilant, and I caught on to their subterfuge. Oh yes, they were still watching me.

They had gauzy curtains over their windows, but no blinds; they didn’t want to cover their view of me, you see. I knew they were watching through those blinds. Even got binoculars one day at the store to confirm my beliefs. The first window I tried opened into the living room, and at the back of the room, in an armchair, sat the man, staring straight back at me. I nearly dropped my binoculars in my fright. Why did they do this? Why were they always, always watching?

I tried calling the police to file a complaint, but it did no good. The fool on the other end of the phone sounded confused. As if understanding that one’s neighbors are sneaking, spying stalkers is that difficult. I tried to explain the proof I’d obtained with my binoculars, but that only confused the idiot further until finally I just hung up. I was on my own. Me versus them. Well I had bought a lovely home. I wasn’t about to give it up because they were watching. I would outlast their invasive eyes.

A year turned into two, and their methods became even subtler still. Now the gauzy curtains were buffeted by blinds. Now they no longer used the front door, relying solely on the back door that opened into the fenced backyard, which could only be exited by a gate in the far side of the fence. I learned their new layout while making a pass around the house in the dark of night. I didn’t know what they wanted. I couldn’t risk confrontation, but I had to know how they were still doing it, why I could still feel those eyes on me at all times.

They must have had disagreements about their methods, because I heard raised voices coming from their home more frequently than ever before. Good, I thought. They were wearing down while I was still yet strong. Eventually, I saw them so infrequently that I began to wonder at my own surety that they were still watching. My gut said they were, but I had to know for sure. To prove it to myself, I crept across the street one evening and pressed myself up against the windows, peering through the slits between the blinds. And sure as anything, there they were, all in the room together, all looking right at me! I jumped and ran pell-mell for my home, certain that at any moment I would feel hands close around my limbs and bring me to the ground.

I made it to my home and flung the door open, only pausing for a moment to look back once I was safely past the threshold. Across the street, light spilled out across their front lawn from the open front door. The man and the woman stood there together, brazenly watching me from right out in the open! There was a look of such rage on their faces, I was sure that I was done for. Quickly, I snapped my door closed and locked it.

For days I was sure the end would be near. I kept my own blinds shut tight, scarce confident enough to peer through them regularly to keep an eye on the watchers. There seemed to be a lot more activity over there. I began to wonder if they were plotting something even more sinister than their spying. Calling in reinforcements, maybe?

And then the police cars stopped by. For a brief moment, I had hope that my call had done some good and help had finally arrived. But my call had been made months prior, and before long I had proof that help wasn’t coming for me. The police must be in on it too. That would explain the fool I’d spoken to so long ago. The police stood on the doorstep for quite a while, speaking with the man and woman of the home, all of them frequently flitting their eyes over at me. I could feel the terror take, wondering if I’d misjudged the entire situation, that I wasn’t really strong enough to hold my ground and keep my home.

Then the police made their way across the street for me. I fled from the door and hid under my bed. Several times I heard the pounding of their fists on my door and muffled words from their mouths, but I stayed put. I wouldn’t give them any opportunity to hurt me. Finally, the sound ceased, and I slowly crept back out to see what was going on. Now, only the man was outside speaking with the cops. His voice was loud, though the words indistinct, and he gesticulated wildly with his speech, pointing and looking frequently at me. The cops only shook their heads, though, and they turned to leave.

After they drove away, the man still stayed out there, eyes on my home. I felt emboldened now. The police weren’t complete fools after all; they knew he was the culprit, not me. Maybe they weren’t going to arrest him, but they were leaving me alone. I raised my blinds so that he could see that I saw him and that I was unafraid. I smirked and even laughed, thrilled at the power I now felt in the face of their failure. He grit his teeth and started to cross his lawn, and I would have met him at my door had he continued, but his wife appeared at their door, child in arms, and called him back. He turned his rage on her then instead of me, and they withdrew back inside again. Inside, but still watching. But I didn’t fuss about is as much now. My gut told me I’d won.

Maybe a week later, a moving truck appeared in front of the house. All of their belongings poured forth from the home and into the truck, the moving men making short work of the contents. All the while, the family watched me. Even some of the moving men watched too, taking cues from their employers. But I had every blind open. Let them watch. I had won. Let them see my victory! Let them see that it was I who outlasted them, I who didn’t break under their constant scrutiny. Let them now know how it feels to be under the watchful eye of a stranger at all times. I stood there beside my front window, unmoving, for hours until their home was empty and they themselves had driven off into the night for the final time. I enjoyed the sleep of the just that night, finally free of their abuse.

It didn’t take long for a new family to buy the vacated home, the housing market being what it was. When I heard their moving truck arrive, I jumped to! This time, my position would be made clear from the start. I was no victim. I stood out on my porch, hands on hips, feet in a wide, strong stance, and I watched them as they moved in. They gave a few surreptitious glances and a cautious wave at one point. I waved in returned and smiled broadly. I could tell immediately that they were snoops, but it was also evident that they were put off by my confidence. With any luck, this would turn their gazes to a different neighbor.

But if not, I would be fine. I had withstood worse and was all the stronger for it. I knew this game well, and if they insisted, I would play it—and win—again.