Don't Turn Around.
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*Don’t turn around* It’s been two hours. The tapping and scratching against my window would not stop. *Stupid raccoons*, I reasoned with myself, yet I still could not bear to look behind me.
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Don't Turn Around.

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*Don’t turn around*

It’s been two hours. The tapping and scratching against my window would not stop. *Stupid raccoons*, I reasoned with myself, yet I still could not bear to look behind me.

*Don’t turn around*

I glanced over at my clock. *It’s 3 fucking am. Please let me sleep*. Yet the tapping continued, and I imagined horrible scenarios to determine what it could be.

Disembodied hands clawing at my window to reach the trembling cowardly flesh inside… a psychotic monster with bone stumps for hands tapping at the glass with twisted enjoyment. Or both. Or none.

Maybe it’s a homeless person in need of help? No, they would say something instead of continuing on with this incessant tapping. God, this is so unbearable.

*Don’t turn around*

I buried my head in my pillow to ignore it. But a new sound came. The sound of something dragging across the window pane, like windshield wipers in a car, or… “A h-hand...

” I whispered to myself, shuddering at the thought.

*DON’T TURN AROUND*

I was too scared to look. But I had to, didn't I? I resolved to face my fears instead of filling my stupid brain with impossible thoughts. I got up, and turned around. I finally saw it.

There, hanging outside my window, was a naked corpse of a man. His jaw had been ripped off and there were bloody handprints on my window where he had been tapping.

On the window, a message in blood read, “YOU SHOULD HAVE HELPED HIM.”

The door slammed behind me. I shed a tear and shuddered as an inhuman voice whispered close to my ear.

“Don’t turn around.”

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