The Window

“There’s something… on the wing of the plane!” Charlie had always particularly enjoyed that classic Twilight Zone episode. Something about the combination of William Shatner’s trademark overly-theatrical line delivery and the general creepiness of the protagonist’s unfortunate Cassandra predicament had always just clicked for him. He couldn’t imagine anything scarier than being absolutely certain of something, only to slowly realize that no one believes you.

Strangely, Charlie wasn’t a huge Twilight Zone fan in general. But he’d seen that particular episode at a young age — too young really — and it had stuck with him ever since. Really, he’d always had trouble with the idea of an anthology series in general, as he found it difficult to get attached to stories or characters in such a limited timeframe. He preferred the slow burn of serialized television, as long as the payoff was worth it, anyway. Most shows tended not to stick the landing, as Charlie was happy to explain to anyone who would listen.

Most people didn’t.

So, when Charlie found himself sitting alone in his apartment on a Friday night, enjoying a characteristically tame night of scrolling through Netflix (before switching over to YouTube, and ultimately back to Netflix), it was mostly business as usual. On average, Charlie figured he’d probably spent close to half of his adult life waffling over ultimately inconsequential decisions like this. It had taken him three hours that night to decide he didn’t need to order a pizza, only to realize five minutes later that, you know what? He wanted one anyway.

As Charlie sat there, munching away and scrolling through movies, his phone buzzed, the screen flaring to life, displaying a text message from an unknown number.

“Look outside,” the message said.

Puzzled, Charlie texted back, “new ph9ne who dus,” assuming one of his friends had simply changed numbers. After a few moments without a response, he shrugged and pizza still in hand, walked over to the balcony. The city unfolded before him as usual, the lights from every car, window, and streetlamp masking the darkness in an air of perpetual twilight. It never really got dark in the city, something Charlie loved and loathed in equal measure. He stood there, momentarily transfixed by the lights, before finishing his slice of pizza and returning to his spot on the couch.

Still no response from the mysterious texter. “Seriously I don’t have ur number. This is Charlie btw.” He clicked send and waited. Nothing. Not even the three dots that indicated the other person was typing. Charlie sighed. “Wrong number, I guess.” No sooner had he said this out loud did his phone buzz again.

The same unknown number. “Did you see?”

Charlie cursed under his breath and responded, against his better judgment. “See what?” He was starting to get annoyed. He waited. Ten minutes passed without a response from the mystery texter.

“Wrong number.” Charlie finally texted back. Exasperated, he tossed his phone on the coffee table and sighed again.

The screen flashed. A single word response.

“No.”

Charlie blocked the number. Some asshole kids, no doubt. Maybe someone across the street had gotten his number, somehow? He went back to the window and looked out, expecting to see some jackass in one of the adjacent buildings looking back at him. Mostly, he just saw his own ghostly reflection in the glass. Behind him, his phone buzzed again.

“Fuck off.” Charlie grumbled to himself as he turned back and picked up the phone.

“You’ll miss it.” “You don’t want to miss it.” Two different messages. Two different numbers. Multiple asshole kids, apparently. He navigated over to the contact page for the first number and called it. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe yell? Threaten to call the police? This was a bad idea.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

After a fruitless minute, Charlie hung up. Of course they weren’t going to answer. He opened up the message page. A new message flashed onscreen “Don’t miss it.”

Charlie texted back two words “FUCK OFF!!!” and turned off his phone. He shouldn’t have given in, and he knew that, but — and he realized the irony in thinking this as he sat alone at home on a Friday night — surely whoever was texting him had something better to do with their time than this. He went back to the couch but found himself unable to sit still. He scrolled and scrolled through his Netflix queue but found himself fidgeting constantly, glancing at his phone, then the window, then the phone again.

Heaving an agitated sigh, Charlie stood and made his way back to the window, staring out into the semi-darkness. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he was determined to find it. Behind him, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He ignored it and kept looking out the window. It buzzed again. He had turned it off, hadn’t he? Each time the phone buzzed, Charlie ignored it. He wasn’t about to give in. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He simply stood there in the soft glow from the television, until the sun came up, watching, and when his roommate, Pete, came home the next night, Charlie was still standing there. His phone was dead, and he hadn’t moved from the spot.

“Hey bud, what’s up?” Pete asked.

Charlie didn’t respond.

“Charlie?”

Nothing.

“You okay, man?”

Charlie stood staring out the window.

“Hey man, it’s Pete. What’s going on?” Pete walked over and grabbed Charlie’s shoulder. He shrugged away and muttered something under his breath.

“What?”

“I don’t want to miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“I can’t miss it.”

“Charlie, what are you talking about?” Pete was getting worried, but Charlie just kept muttering under his breath.

Pete’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Okay, just a second, Charlie.” He took it out and glanced at the screen. A text message from an unknown number.

“Look out the window.”