Bathroom windows

I live in an old three-room apartment on the outskirts of Moscow. It hasn't been renovated in forty years; the wallpaper is peeling, the plaster is crumbling, and the stupid layout is often irritating. This is partly why this whole thing happened.

I often skipped classes and spent my time at home, surfing the internet and playing games. Sometimes I'd stay up late. That day, my mother, as usual, left for work early. I got up around two in the afternoon, started the computer, drank a cup of coffee, and discovered there was no internet due to non-payment. I was too lazy to leave the apartment, even for this vital necessity, so I simply opened my movie folder and continued watching the series.

After a couple of hours, I decided I'd have to go outside after all, as I couldn't find anything resembling food in the fridge. I could also pay for the internet. However, before heading out, I decided to take a bath. It's worth noting that I don't take baths often due to their small size, their age, and the consequent unhygienic nature of the process. I usually just shower. But that day, something possessed me to change my habits.

By the way, there are two rather large windows in the bathroom. One overlooks the kitchen, so you can see the head of someone standing in the bathtub. The second window is cut at the same level in the thin wall separating the bathroom and toilet. The glass in the window leading to the toilet was broken due to an unsuccessful mosquito hunt. I showered everything with shards and got blood from my cut hand all over it. I barely wiped the dried blood off the frame afterwards. I don't understand why these windows were installed, and now I sincerely hate whoever made them.

After filling the bathtub and waiting a bit (since I'd turned the water temperature way too high), I climbed in. For some reason, I immediately felt uneasy. No, I didn't feel the infamous "presence" and I didn't hear anything. But for some reason, I felt cold in the hot bath. After sitting there for a while, I actually froze and got goosebumps.

And then I accidentally looked up and looked out the broken window leading to the restroom. What I saw then, I will never forget...

I saw a face. A pale, deformed, wide, and ugly face with huge black eyes and a huge, smiling red mouth. It seemed simultaneously artificial and incredibly realistic. As if someone had set out to replicate the ugliest face on earth and, in their mastery, had achieved the "uncanny valley" effect. A face like that wouldn't appear in any nightmare. It simply couldn't be accurately described. It can only be seen, which I would never wish on my worst enemy.

 I couldn't make out much of his other features, except for his wispy black hair, more like a wig. I couldn't even tell what I was more afraid of—the face itself or what my imagination had conjured up lurking behind the two-meter wall. My own wet hair stood on end at the back of my neck, and I tried to press myself as far back into the small bathroom as I could. I desperately wanted not so much to scream as to let out a high-pitched shriek, to somehow alleviate my fear. But I clenched my teeth so tightly that my jaw almost locked. I'd never experienced such supernatural terror in my life. The face stared past me, as if mesmerized by what it saw through the opposite "kitchen window."

I don't know how much time passed. Maybe minutes, maybe seconds. But at some point, it looked back at me.

After three or four of the most terrifying seconds of my life, I screamed. A long-suppressed scream burst forth in a hoarse, shrill croak. I think if I hadn't let it out then, I would have simply died of terror at the sight of those huge, empty eyes.

And it was gone. It simply slid slowly down, out of the window's line of sight, and behind the wall. As if a set had been removed.

I couldn't believe my luck. I was shaking violently as I sat in the bathtub for a long time, half of which I'd spilled all around me. Then I slowly rose. And looked out the window that overlooked the kitchen. And, like in the worst horror movie, I saw IT there. Still corpse-pale, all streaked with blue, and grinning in the semblance of a smile. Right next to me, behind the glass—it had simply moved from the bathroom to the kitchen.

 My legs gave way, I lost my balance, fell out of the bathtub, and hit my head hard on the opposite wall, losing sight of my face.

I must have blacked out for a moment, and when I came to on the floor, all I could see through the window was the kitchen ceiling. Beside myself with terror, I jumped out of the bathtub and, a second later, found myself in my room. Looking around nervously, I quickly pulled on the first clothes I could find, right over my wet body, grabbed my shoes, and ran out of the apartment. I put them on somewhere on the first floor. And then I ran out into the melting spring evening. It turned out I'd been sitting in the bathtub for three hours.

Only as I was running out of the apartment did I notice that the front door had been welcomingly ajar all day.