I had just drifted off to sleep when I heard a scream and a punch. In moments I was pulling on my shorts and a sweater. I slapped on my back porch light and opened the door. As I went through the patio gate and into the alley that separated my small apartment complex from the much larger one behind me, I let the gate bang, thinking that the noise and the light would scare off anyone making mischief.

The alley was abandoned. I stood in the middle of it and turned around twice, searching until I was facing a window directly opposite of mine, about sixty feet away. Everything felt wrong, right there. The window looked blacker than all the others. It seemed to dare me to come closer and I wanted to go up to it, to look inside and see if everything was ok, but I was afraid that I might get arrested for peeping. I could just call the cops, but what would I say?

This had happened once before. In another town, someone had tried to break into my house while I was asleep, and when the cops came, they convinced me that I had imagined it and that there was nothing in my backyard. Afterwards, I realized that I had been right, someone had been there, but by then the cops were gone and I couldn’t see the point of calling them back just to tell them I wasn’t dreaming.

But now, how could I call the cops and tell them that I was asleep, heard something and now I had a feeling about a window? I needed something else to prove I wasn’t making this up.

I crept within fifteen feet of the window; it’s something I’m good at with out trying, moving without making a sound. I stared at the window and waited for a clue. I felt a sort of tension coming from the window. Was it ill will, or was I projecting anxiety upon it? It was cold and the rocks from the road were digging into my bare feet, but I ignored them and focused on the window, waiting for another sound. Ten minutes later, I suddenly shivered from the cold and realized I was stiff. Perhaps I had been dreaming after all. I gave the window a warning glare before returning to my apartment. I listened until I fell asleep, but heard nothing.

In the morning, the window look the same as all the others, so I decided it was a dream and forgot about it until two months later, when a neighbor stopped me to gossip that some guy had raped a woman who lived there, at that window. He had broken into her place, waited for her to come home. Odd, I thought, thinking of that night. It happened two months ago, she said.

I still feel remorseful and wished I had called 911 instead of worrying about appearing ridiculous.