Watcher

I’ve never seen it, but I know it’s watching me.

I had to put up blackout curtains in my bedroom.  The old ones wouldn’t quite go all the way to the edge of the window, and you could see into parts of the room around them.  At first I taped them so that there were no gaps, but if anyone came over, that would make me look insane.  It’s occurred to me that I might be insane, but overall my life isn’t that bad.  The only reason I’m writing this is to see if it’s happened to anyone else.

There are two rules that I have to follow, and other than that, things are okay.

One: I can’t be outside at night.  Ever.  For that reason, I never drive anywhere that I couldn’t walk home before dark if my car died or something.  My work is about a mile from my house.  I always go to the same grocery store.  There are a few nice walks within a couple of miles.  Travel is hard, but if I get flights early in the day I can go see my parents or go to weddings or whatever.

Two: I can’t be within three feet of a window at night.  Rather than putting tape on the floor or something equally psychotic, I just have tables or other furniture that keeps me from getting too close.  I have my bed on the opposite side of the room, and if I’m feeling extra anxious, I have a child gate that fits into the window behind the curtain.  For some reason knowing that the curtain couldn’t go anywhere is comforting.  If I put on headphones with white noise, that helps, too.

Following those two rules, I can live a pretty normal life.  I have to admit, not being able to go anywhere after the sun goes down has made me appreciate the mornings, and my sleep schedule is the best it’s ever been.  The one thing that I miss the most is seeing the stars, but I don’t think I will again.

The first time it happened, I was 35, solo camping in Glacier National Park.  There were plenty of other people at the campground, but I was in my own spot, in a nice forested area.  My site was the last one on the road, near the lake, and a little isolated.  At the time, I was very happy to have gotten it.

It was spring, and the park had just opened to cars.  There weren’t really many mosquitoes yet, so I was just outside my tent, looking at the stars, drinking a beer.  Lake Macdonald was close to the campsite, and I had heard there could be northern lights, so I went out to the lakeshore, carrying a camping chair and wearing my unzipped sleeping bag like a shawl.

The stars were brilliant, and I could see the milky way stretching over the dark outlines of pointed mountains.  There was no moon, but you could make your way across the gravelly shore by starlight.  I’d never experienced anything like it, even though I’d been stargazing a few times.  Pulling a beer from my six pack, I sat down in my chair, and stared up at the sky.  It was around 11PM, which is usually when the aurora starts getting good.

It was beautiful, although faint.  Gentle green and purple lines over the mountains, reflecting on the still water.  Wrapped in the sleeping bag I actually dozed off, exhausted from hiking all day.

That was when it woke me up.

The northern lights were brighter, like you see in pictures.  As stunning as it was, I only felt fear.  Frozen in the chair, I looked up at the sky, as if something was going to come out of it.  There was nothing there.

In the middle of the bright stars, surrounded by the aurora, there was a little hole, a space, that was completely black.  It didn’t have sharp edges, but everything faded toward the center of it, leaving… nothingness.

Goosebumps went across my scalp, and I held perfectly still, hoping that it wouldn’t notice me.  It sounds ridiculous to say it like that, I know.  Why would a dark spot in the sky notice me, or be sentient at all?  Maybe it isn’t, I can’t really say.  That was just how I felt.

When the sound started, the pang of fear that went across my body actually hurt, as all of my muscles tensed up and I felt a panic which had only existed in childhood nightmares.  It was deafening, a low sound that oscillated, kind of a wub wub wub noise.  It felt like it went through my bones, and even terrified, I looked at the gravel around my feet and saw it shaking.

I threw my sleeping bag to the ground, knocking over the chair as I started to run.  I ran back to the campground, which still had some lights on.  There were other people there, a flashlight or two.  I saw the light on the bathrooms, and sprinted toward it instinctively.  Throwing the door open, I ran into the back corner and curled into a ball, arms around my knees.

The sound was gone, but I couldn’t make myself get up.  I sat in the fluorescent lights, curled on the floor.  After maybe half an hour, a guy came in to brush his teeth.  He saw me on the floor and asked if I was okay.  I asked him if he’d heard a loud noise, a loud low noise.  He said he hadn’t, and asked if I was okay again.  I knew I looked crazy, so I said that I was feeling sick and just wanted to stay close to the toilet.  I’m sure he thought I was on drugs.  He brushed his teeth and left without saying anything else.

After another hour or so, the concrete floor was getting uncomfortable.

I thought that the whole thing must have been in my head.  It made total sense; I was asleep, had a nightmare, and freaked out.  I was still asleep for the sand moving part, but didn’t realize it.  If it had been real, everyone would have heard it.  Washing my face in the sink with cold water,  I was awake.  Looking in the mirror, I actually laughed, thinking about how silly I had acted.

When I opened the door and stepped back out under the night sky, there was a tension in the air, like when you’re close to a big power line.  With the outside light next to me, I couldn’t make out any stars, or see the dark spot.  But I knew it was there.

The noise started to come back, a crescendo rumbling up from silence, and I looked to the sky.  The light on the side of the stucco building was right next to me, preventing me from seeing anything past the eaves, but I knew I wasn’t dreaming it.  There were moths around the light, and they all fell to the ground.

I still had my hand on the open door, that was how fast it had happened.  I darted back inside, breathing hard running only fifteen feet back to my spot against the wall.  The sound went away.

I spent the night there.  A few people came and went, awkwardly ignoring me, or asking if they could help.  I said the same thing, that my stomach was just upset and I wanted to be near the toilet.  It was the best I could think of.

Once the sun came up, a bunch of people started coming in, both stalls were occupied, and the sinks had one or two people at each.  In the bright morning, with birds singing and cars running and people laughing, it seemed safe.  I opened the door.

There was no sound.  No hole in the sky.

I had two more nights but left early.  When I got back to my house in the afternoon, I just played video games all day.  I didn’t tell anyone I’d come home early, because then they might ask why, and I didn’t want to talk about it or think about it or admit that it had happened.

I had no desire to go outside.  I closed all of the blinds when the sun was setting, and just drank and watched shows until about 1 AM.  When I went to bed, I had a hard time sleeping, but eventually did.

The next day, I went to the grocery store.  I was a bit tentative opening my door, but things were fine.  It was a beautiful day, everything was green after about 6 months of winter, and I was feeling pretty good.  It wasn’t until the sun went down that it came back.

I was on my couch, next to the window, which was open.  As the street lights flickered on, and it grew dark I felt uneasy.  Just a little tickle of fear, like you would have as a kid imagining that something was under your bed.  Over my left shoulder, the sky loomed through the window, and I couldn’t help myself.  I looked out.

Putting my head close to the glass to look up at the dark sky, that powerful humming came back.  The glass began to shake and I recoiled, throwing myself to the far side of the couch, then pulling my legs in as if something would break through the window and grab them.

But nothing did.  The humming faded away.

I spent the night on cushions and blankets on my bathroom floor, with the door closed.  It’s the only room in my apartment with no windows.

It had followed me.

I still wonder why, every night.  During the day, I do fine, and don’t even think about it most of the time.  It’s just a part of life, like checking for cars before you cross the street.

There was only one other night, a few months later, where I even got close to a window.  I had been drinking, a lot.  As scared as I was, I managed to get angry.  It wasn’t fair that this was happening to me, and whatever it was could just kill me or fuck off, as far as I was concerned.  I’d left the living room window open, and gathered up my courage before walking up to it.

The sound came.  I gritted my teeth, said I would stand my ground no matter what.

But it got louder.  And louder.  And louder, that wub wub wub wub drilling into my brain, causing a fear like I never knew a sound could.  I fell back, crawling away from the window, from the black night sky, until it disappeared.  I sobbed after that.  Sometimes, I still cry when I think about it.

Not knowing is the worst part.  Having no idea what it is, why it wants me.

Maybe I’m crazy.  I’m considering going to therapy, even though I really don’t believe that it could help.

But I have no doubt that if anyone else has heard it, they will know what I’m talking about immediately.  So now, at risk of sounding insane, I’ll ask:

Has anyone else heard it?