An unusual window sill

Before bed, I like to hang out on the balcony, especially after a hot summer day. My balcony isn't glazed, so it gets air from all sides and you can admire the night sky.

As always, I made myself some tea, threw in a couple of ice cubes, and headed out to relax on the balcony. On the left, you can see the wall of the neighboring balcony, and on the right, you can see my kitchen window. Halfway through my mug, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that something had changed on the right side. It was my window. A light had come on. Needless to say, it was impossible, since I was alone in the apartment. I immediately suspected burglars.

But the lights in the apartment are off, I lock the door in the evening, and I'm on the balcony—so the careless burglars might think the apartment is empty. I pushed the door firmly, but it didn't budge.  I'd recently installed a plastic one; it was still sticking a little, but now it felt like someone had locked it. As I tried in vain to open the door, I heard rustling and scraping sounds coming from the window. Some shadow was scurrying around it. I was in a desperate situation; all I could do was hide in a pile of junk on the edge of the balcony and watch.

Suddenly, not a head in a ski mask (as I might have expected), but a long, thin stick emerged from the window. The stick bent like a limb at a joint and secured itself to the windowsill. Another stick crawled out behind it and repeated the first one's actions. Then came the thing where these sticks were connected. A torso. A black torso with a black head. This creature was darker than the night itself; this color absorbed more light than black; I couldn't even tell whether it had three-dimensionality or not. The head had no bulges or pits to mark a face.  The sticks clinging to the windowsill shortened and pulled its body up with them. The alien's legs emerged in the same manner. It probably didn't pay any attention to me, although how would I know—I never noticed its eyes.

The tall thing crawled its way down the facade of the house, clinging to every little protrusion. Five minutes later, the lawn beneath the house began to rustle, but I didn't dare get up even after everything had quieted down. It was probably an hour before I resumed my attempts to get into the apartment. The door still wouldn't budge, and I still couldn't manage to climb through the kitchen window, from which light was still pouring, despite the short distance.

So, I spent the night on the balcony, wrapped in a winter sheepskin coat I'd hidden there until the season. In the morning, I saw a neighbor walking down the street, minding his own business.  Luckily, he had a key to my apartment from my seaside vacation last year, and I asked him to come in and open the balcony. Once free, I began to inspect every inch, every corner of the apartment, but found no trace of anyone's presence.

I'm not even interested in the question "What the hell was that?" I'm interested in how it got into my apartment and how long it stayed there. Maybe you're all leading your lives peacefully now, and something like that is hiding under your baseboards or behind your gas stove?