Late dinner

I was once visiting a friend—he lives on the sixth floor. We sat and drank beer, then he went to bed, and I went out to smoke on the balcony. After my smoke, I was about to go back and lie down, but I noticed he had binoculars on the windowsill, and in the five-story building across the street, several windows were lit up. Deciding to "play spy," I picked up the binoculars and started examining the windows. Most of the windows were positioned at a very awkward angle, so I couldn't see anything out of them. The exception was one window on the fifth floor.

Peeking in, I realized it was the kitchen: a very fat man was sitting at the table with his back to the window, busily eating something with his hands. His movements were quick and jerky, somehow unnatural, as if he were in a hurry to finish everything. After each up-and-down movement of his hands, I even seemed to notice some splashes flying around him. Mind you, it was already well past midnight—the man's dinner had been quite late. Overall, it was a rather odd sight. I was curious about what he was eating and fiddled with the focus knob, but his back blocked everything—just his arm moving back and forth. I lost interest and was about to go to bed, when suddenly this fat man turned to face me very sharply and looked straight at me. I caught a glimpse of his entire chin covered in blood (not smeared, but completely covered). I jerked in shock, dropped the binoculars, and immediately crouched down to get out of sight. About five minutes later, I poked my head out—the light from that window was gone.

If you think I felt relieved, you're mistaken. The first thought that occurred to me was that he was standing there with binoculars and could see me perfectly well, despite the darkness. I crawled out of the balcony on all fours, pulled the curtains, and locked the door to this room. I couldn't fall asleep for a long time, tossing and turning in bed.

In the morning, a friend laughed at me, saying the man must have just been very careless about eating sprats in tomato sauce or something. But I don't think so; his movements were so predatory and convulsive, and it's hard to imagine anyone getting so much sauce all over their chin. Besides, I still can't explain how the man sensed my gaze and how he managed to look me straight in the eye. The light on the balcony was off, and the binoculars had anti-glare visors...

I don't peek in the windows anymore, and I always draw the curtains in my room in the evening.