Shards

A few years ago, a typhoon hit the city. The rain wasn't heavy, but the wind was so strong it tore roof tiles off the houses. Along with a particularly strong gust, a pebble caught in the typhoon hit the balcony and shattered it. While I was trying to protect the room from the raging wind, I managed to cut my legs and arms on the shards. The damage wasn't severe, except for the shattered window glass. I was seriously scared then, but things got weird later.

The next day, I called a crew to replace the broken window with a new plastic one. I live on the eighth floor, so the guys had to work at height—though they were used to it. To get out of the way, I decided to go to the store. I returned fifteen minutes later. There was complete panic on the floor, and my apartment was the epicenter. Running inside, I learned that one of the window installers had fallen to his death. No one could really explain what happened. He simply fell.

I won't go into the details of the subsequent investigation. I tried to forget this incident as quickly as possible.

The other day, on my first day off after the work week, I was at home. After making lunch and cleaning up, I decided to go soak in the bathroom. Before I could relax, the sound of breaking glass caught my attention. Wrapping myself in a towel and running into the living room, I stared at the TV—it was on, even though I hadn't been near it for several days. As I bent down to pull out the cord, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I spun around and saw a black kitten. How the animal got into the apartment didn't bother me at the time, but I had to get rid of it. Chasing after it, I didn't immediately notice how I'd cut my legs on the shards of glass lying by the window. But where did they come from if the window was perfectly intact? As I studied the window, my gaze caught on a man standing directly below mine. Looking closer, I recognized the dark, shaggy-haired man in overalls who had fallen from my window. He, in turn, was staring intently at me, eight stories up...

What it was, I don't know, and I don't want to know. But since that day, I've been a little afraid to be alone in my apartment in the evenings.