Short Story: 'The Open Window'

 Sunny L won this year's Arthur Conan Doyle Prize for Writing this year with this short story.

 

Prologue

They were so in love that it was almost as if nothing else existed for them besides the other. It was like something had clicked between them from the first day they met in the town library. Her interesting personality stood out to Marc. She seemed outgoing, expressive, and kind, and her interests were not ones you would usually hear about: true crime and psychology. It wasn’t long before they got to know each other more. He learnt about all of her talents, personal life, and past loves which she said ‘never worked out for her’. He was in love, and he knew she was too.

Present day

It was just any other Sunday evening for the newlyweds. The dirty plates and glasses were left scattered on the dining table, which was being cleaned up slowly, revealing more and more of a clean table. They were laughing and talking the entire time, which was ordinary for them. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky a gorgeous gradient of orange, yellow and pink, beams of the swollen sun casting through the shut window and into the room. The atmosphere was pleasant, with the gentle songs of chirping birds on the powerlines along with not-too-busy traffic. There was also the hearty laughter of children in the park just across from the window, which would soon come to a halt as parents rushed outside in dressing gowns telling them to get back inside.

Everything was normal until Marc noticed something rather odd just outside the window. “Linea, come take a look,” he yelled to her, who was in the kitchen placing dishes in the sink. She came walking into the living room and saw Marc standing with plates in his hands gazing out the window.

“What is it?” she questioned confusedly before looking out with Marc. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No…” he paused before continuing, “There are people outside in the park…watching us.”

He tilted his head in confusion, trying to make out whether or not he was seeing this right. However, it seemed that Linea couldn’t see what he was seeing.

“I don’t see anything. Maybe you’re just seeing things, I mean, we had a long day at work today. I can assure you that nobody is watching us through the window,” she said with a laugh woven in her voice.

“No, I’m seeing what I’m seeing, alright,” he nods slightly to himself.

“Let me take these off of you while you gaze at nothing,” Linea chuckles sarcastically as she takes the plates from his hands, walking away into the kitchen. “I’ll get started on washing them for us. Go rest, you seem like you need it.”

Marc didn’t respond and just simply stared back at the odd figures in the park. They seemed oddly familiar like he had seen the faces before, but not enough to remember distinctively.

“Am I truly just seeing things?” he thought to himself.

Suddenly, the figures began to move towards the window, which caught him off-guard as they were frozen like statues before. He flinched and stepped away from the window, the thought of it being shut somewhat comforting him a little bit as he believed he truly was just imagining things.

“No…I’m just hallucinating. This won’t happen in real life, it’s…it’s too surreal,” he thought to himself again.

He directed his gaze back to the figures. They gained speed and continued to walk towards him, their mouths seemed like they were whispering inaudible words to him. Marc desperately tried to understand what they were saying, but their lips were too difficult to read. He knew this was a hallucination, he convinced himself of that, but it still felt real. Involuntarily, he took another step back. His breathing became laboured and perspiration broke from his skin. His eyes darted from figure to figure. They seemed so familiar, but he still couldn’t make out who they were.

They got closer, and closer until they were just about a few metres away from the window. Marc felt like his limbs were locked in place like some kind of suffocating wire was binding his arms and legs so they were restricted from movement. His mind was clouded with an unpleasant blend of confusion, panic, and curiosity. Despite the absurdity of this situation, he still couldn't help but try to remember who these faces belonged to.

He wanted to leap up to the window and draw the curtains to a close so he wouldn't be forced to watch this hallucination unfold in front of him, but he just couldn't. Instead, he just stood there like his body had shut down. He watched the figures get closer and closer to the window, their mouths spewing inaudible words, their heads shaking 'no' at him in a panicked way. It was too insane for him to comprehend anything.

Closer, and closer. He could hear the pattering footsteps of the figures pounding in his head. Draw the curtains, draw the curtains! They were too close now. They reached the hedges at the front of the yard where the small, humble gate was. Draw the curtains, Marc. Draw them!

Like an electric bolt that shot through his body, he leapt forward and quickly drew the curtains across the window, making sure every inch of glass was covered. He clutched the curtains, holding them together as he waited for any noise. His body was frozen in the position as he listened intently. Nothing. The figures weren't real.

He sighed before turning around, seeing Linea standing before him.

"Linea?" He whispered.

She held the glass of water he had drunk earlier, swirling it around, the poisonous cloud that rose in the drink was obvious from this view. Marc began to finally feel disoriented, his vision going dotty. The last thing he saw were pictures in her other hand, all of the faces were the same as the figures just earlier. He crashed to the ground.

"And another to the collection," she laughs.