The weather was still bad outside. Wind howled all night, tearing through the snow laden streets, hail lashing at the windows like angry wildcats.
The next morning I looked out to the house opposite. In the top floor of the house, there was a man sat in an armchair, facing the window. Facing my house.
As I peered closer, I saw the sullen, dark expression on his face and his black eyes.
He was looking at me.
He was watching me.
Swallowing, I pulled the curtains closed.
I could still feel his eyes burning through the fabric so I left the room.
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