"Face At The Window"

 

The Knock at Midnight

It was 1:14 a.m. when the knock came.

Zane Faulkner stood in his apartment kitchen, precisely aligning a teaspoon of coffee over a steaming mug. The knock echoed again—three short taps, not loud, but precise. Almost calculated.

Eli flinched. “Who knocks like that at this hour?” he whispered from the couch, half-buried under a blanket.

Zane didn’t answer. He set the spoon down without clinking it, turned, and walked to the door.

A young woman stood outside.

Her eyes were wide, almost glassy, as if she hadn’t blinked in hours. She wore a grey coat, soaked from the rain, and strands of damp hair clung to her pale forehead. Behind her, the hallway lights flickered. A suitcase leaned against her shin, forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

The Girl Who Sees Faces

Eli peeked from behind Zane’s shoulder. “She’s soaking. Should I—?”

“Get her a towel,” Zane said softly.

She stepped inside hesitantly, clutching her bag.

“I saw your name online,” she said, eyes darting around. “Someone posted about you… said you help people. I need help.”

“What kind of help?” Zane asked, calm as ever.

She looked directly at him.

“Someone is watching me.”

Eli groaned under his breath. Zane gave him a subtle glance, warning him to stay quiet.

“From where?” Zane asked.

She hesitated. “My apartment. 22nd floor. There’s… there’s a face in the window. It watches me every night.”

Zane remained perfectly still. “Do you live alone?”

She nodded. “I moved in two weeks ago. It started the day I unpacked my boxes. Every night, around 1:13 a.m., I look up… and it’s there. A face. Pale. Eyes open. Not moving. Just… watching.”

Eli’s Doubts

In the kitchen, as the girl dried herself off, Eli leaned close to Zane. “Boss… come on. This has ‘hallucination’ written all over it.”

“Possibly,” Zane replied, sipping his coffee.

“She’s twitchy, anxious, and she just said she found you online. What if this is all—?”

Zane tilted his head slightly. “Fear is real, even if its source isn’t.”

Eli crossed his arms. “She needs therapy, not a detective.”

Zane looked through the steam rising from his mug, straight at the girl.

“Or,” he said, “she’s telling the truth.”

The Woman’s Name

Her name was Leena Moreau, a 26-year-old graphic designer who had recently moved into Skylight Tower, a newly renovated high-rise known for its cold architecture and mirrored glass windows.

“Apartment 2211,” she said. “Facing the east side. Every night, same time.”

“And what does the face look like?” Zane asked.

She shivered. “It’s… blank. Like it shouldn’t be there. It’s not reflected. I checked from every angle. It’s inside.”

Zane sat back, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Have you ever gone up to the 22nd floor?”

Her face drained of color. “That is my floor. But the window I’m talking about… it’s directly across from mine. The apartment across from me… it’s supposed to be vacant.”

A Visit to the Tower

By 2:00 a.m., they were standing in front of Skylight Tower. Rain tapped rhythmically on Zane’s shoulders as he looked up at the slick building surface. The 22nd floor was barely visible through the mist.

Leena pointed. “That one. Right there. That’s the window.”

Zane studied the glass. For a moment, it looked like nothing. Then—a flicker.

A pale oval shape. Not a light. Not a reflection.

A face?

Zane said nothing, only adjusted his coat and turned toward the door.

Inside Apartment 2211

Leena’s apartment was minimal but tidy. One couch. One plant. One desk with a laptop. Her curtains were drawn tight.

She hesitated near the window. “It’s always here. I try not to look but…”

Zane walked up to the glass. The opposing apartment window was directly in line.

“It’s listed as vacant?” he asked.

“Yes. I asked the manager. No one’s rented it since the renovation.”

Zane touched the cold glass. “And yet someone watches.”

2:00 a.m. – The Face Appears

They turned out the lights.

Only the city glowed faintly below. Eli, grumbling, crouched near the window with a pair of binoculars.

Then it happened.

Zane stiffened. So did Leena.

Across the gap, in the opposing window—a face.

Pale. Still. Pressed faintly against the glass. Watching.

Eli gasped. “That… that’s not a trick, boss. That’s not a shadow.”

Zane said nothing. His hand slowly moved to his pocket notebook.

The face didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

The Locked Apartment

The next morning, Zane returned alone and requested access to Apartment 2212, the one across from Leena’s.

The building manager, a short, red-faced man named Mr. Hobb, looked puzzled.

“No one’s lived in that unit since construction. But I can let you in… if you really want.”

They entered.

Dust.

Plastic sheets.

A cold, sterile air.

But no furniture. No signs of life.

No signs of anyone watching from here.

Zane walked to the window. The same window.

He looked out.

Across the gap—Leena’s window.

No sign of anything unusual.

He looked down.

A faint smudge. Skin oil. From a face. Pressed against the glass.

The Phantom Tenant

Zane called Eli.

“Get me building records. Maintenance logs. Anyone who’s entered 2212 in the last month.”

Eli groaned. “That’ll be buried in red tape.”

“You’re very good at red tape.”

Zane hung up and turned around slowly. His gaze moved to the corners of the apartment. Then to the ceiling. Then to the vent.

It was sealed.

But just beneath the vent panel, barely noticeable: a fingernail scratch.

Someone had been here.

Lyra Arrives

Later that evening, as rain returned, Lyra stepped into the apartment like a breath of sharp perfume.

“You called?” she asked, arms crossed.

Zane smiled faintly. “Eli was getting dramatic. Thought I’d balance the mood.”

Lyra looked around. “Creepy building. Classic horror setting. Who’s the girl?”

“She claims someone stares at her from a vacant apartment.”

Lyra smirked. “Let me guess. You saw it too.”

Zane didn’t answer.

Eli leaned over. “Oh yeah. He stared at it like he was in love.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

Zane shrugged. “What can I say? I have a thing for stillness.”

The Corridor That Vanishes

That night, Zane, Lyra, and Eli returned to 2212.

They brought a thermal scanner, camera, and motion sensors.

But something strange happened.

The corridor outside the apartment… stretched.

“What the hell…” Eli said, spinning around. “This wasn’t this long.”

Zane walked ten paces forward. Then stopped.

There were now three doors to the left. When there should’ve been one.

Lyra’s voice was quiet. “This building… it’s warping.”

Zane narrowed his eyes.

“Not warping. Distorting.”

Shadows in the Mirror

Inside 2212, the air grew colder.

Zane stood before the window again, but this time… he turned and looked into the mirror on the opposite wall.

Reflected in the mirror was Leena’s window.

And in the mirror, the face was there.

But not in the real window.

Only the mirror.

“Lyra,” Zane said slowly, “tell me what you see.”

She looked into the mirror.

Her lips parted. “It’s a man. Tall. Grey skin. Hollow eyes. But he’s not… alive.”

Eli whispered, “Why can’t we see him in real life?”

Zane didn’t answer.

Instead, he whispered to the mirror:
“Who are you?”

The mirror fogged. As if someone had breathed on it.

And a single word began to form in the mist:

"FAULKNER."

The Name in the Fog

Zane stared at the mirror.

The misted word — FAULKNER — slowly faded, like breath withdrawing into silence.

Eli backed up. “Okay. That’s not creepy. Not creepy at all.”

Lyra placed her hand lightly on Zane’s arm. “Is this personal?”

Zane didn’t respond. His reflection did.

Just for a second—his mirror-self lingered a moment too long. As if the reflection were thinking.

Then the mirror cleared completely.

Zane turned. “We need answers. And they won’t come from glass.”

Records from the Past

Back in the apartment, Eli dumped a folder on the table. “You’re lucky I know a guy who drinks with city archivists.”

Zane flipped through old tenant logs, blueprints, and maintenance reports. Something finally caught his eye.

2212 wasn’t always 2212.

Lyra leaned in. “What do you mean?”

“It used to be 2112,” Zane said, pointing. “Before renovations, this floor had a different layout. That room was an internal unit—no windows at all.”

Eli blinked. “Then how is someone watching her now?”

Zane said quietly, “They shouldn’t be.”

The Forgotten Architect

One name appeared again and again in early documents:

Silas E. Faulkner.

“Any relation?” Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zane tapped the name. “My grandfather had a twin. They say he died young. But… this says otherwise.”

Eli leaned forward. “Wait. Are we dealing with a ghost Faulkner?”

Zane smiled faintly. “No such thing as ghosts.”

Lyra gave him a look. “Even after all this?”

Zane shrugged. “There’s always a reason. We just haven’t found it yet.”

But in his eyes, there was unease.
For once, even Zane didn’t have a theory.

The Hidden Door

Blueprints revealed a structural curiosity.

“Here,” Zane said, tracing lines with his finger. “There’s a gap behind the east wall of 2212. No access from the floorplan. But it’s there.”

That night, they returned with tools.

The wall in question felt… hollow.

Eli drilled slowly. Dust curled into the air. A faint clicking echoed behind the plaster, like nails tapping glass.

Then—a hollow thump.

They peeled away the drywall to reveal a sealed iron door. Old. Forgotten. Bolted from the outside.

On it, a brass plate:

“Observation Room – E.F.”

Lyra’s voice dropped. “E.F.?”

Zane whispered, “Edward Faulkner.”

Inside the Observation Room

They forced it open.

A small, square room.

No furniture. Just a one-way mirror facing Leena’s apartment. On their side, it looked like a window. But from her side—it was a black, watching pane.

On the floor: pages. Dozens of them. Handwritten notes. Scratches. Calculations. Sketches of faces—always the same face.

Eli read aloud. “He is me. I am not. He watches so I don’t forget.”

Zane picked up a torn photograph.

Two boys.

Identical.

Only one was labeled: Zane.

The other: Null.

Who Is Null?

Back at the apartment, Lyra sat across from Zane, arms folded.

“Okay. Time to talk. Who was he?”

Zane closed his eyes. “Family secret. There were whispers—my grandfather had a twin, born still. But my father used to say… ‘He was born quiet, not dead.’”

Eli muttered, “That’s comforting.”

Zane continued. “They say Edward was gifted. Too gifted. Obsessed with mirrors, reflections, memory. He believed a soul could echo across glass.”

Lyra narrowed her eyes. “You think… he built this room?”

“I think,” Zane said, “he built it for himself.”

The Loop Begins

They ran an experiment.

Zane placed a motion sensor behind the mirror. A camera. A speaker.

At 1:13 a.m., the room dimmed.

The mirror glowed faintly.

And in the reflection—Zane’s own face appeared. But it didn’t move.

Zane raised his hand.

The mirror-Zane did not.

Eli backed away. “That’s not you.”

Zane leaned in. “No… it’s the version that stayed behind.”

Lyra touched the glass. “It’s like a memory… trapped.”

Zane said softly, “Or worse—forgotten.”

The mirror flickered. And the face inside smiled.

The Mind Fracture

Eli found more notes the next day. Scribbled equations. Circular phrases.

“Time is a room. Memory is a mirror. Echoes echo until someone listens.”

Zane sat silently, reading every page.

“This wasn’t madness,” he murmured. “It was method. He wasn’t trying to escape. He was trying to trap the other him.”

Lyra paled. “He locked a piece of himself away?”

Zane nodded. “And now it’s awake. Still watching. Still waiting.”

Eli whispered, “Waiting for what?”

Zane looked up.

“Me.”

The Final Face

They returned to the Observation Room one last time.

At 1:13 a.m.

The mirror began to fog.

A face appeared.

But this time… it wasn’t watching Leena.

It was staring straight at Zane.

It pressed closer.

Mouth opened.

No sound.

Zane stepped forward. Inches away. Their eyes met—his and the echo.

Then…

Zane reached forward—

And touched the glass.

A jolt shot through the room. Light pulsed from the mirror. The face blurred. Screamed. Collapsed into fog.

Then silence.

The mirror was empty.

Zane’s Explanation

Two days later, Zane invited everyone to his apartment.

Leena. Lyra. Eli. Even Mr. Hobb, the manager.

They sat in silence.

Zane stood before them, hands folded behind his back.

“This was not a haunting,” he began. “It was a psychological trap. Created decades ago by a man who believed memory could be physically divided. He built a chamber where one version of himself would remain—a reflection, isolated and stripped of identity.”

Eli muttered, “So… like an imprisoned echo?”

“Exactly,” Zane said. “And over the years, that echo began to manifest. Not as sound—but as sight.”

He turned to Leena.

“You moved into the perfect position. Your apartment faced the only mirror left intact. At 1:13 a.m.—the time Edward marked as the moment of separation—the echo appeared.”

Lyra asked, “Why now?”

Zane paused. “Because the mirror needed… recognition. And I shared the same blood. It saw me. Knew me. And reached out.”

Lyra’s Question

As the others left, Lyra lingered near the window.

She stared at the city, lost in thought.

Zane joined her.

“He’s gone now,” he said.

Lyra didn’t look at him. “Is he?”

Zane smiled faintly. “That version of him. Yes.”

She finally turned. “Tell me something.”

“Hmm?”

“Did it scare you?”

Zane didn’t answer right away.

Then: “It unsettled me. But fear… no. Fear is born of uncertainty. Once you understand the mirror, you no longer flinch from what it shows.”

She studied him quietly.

Then asked, “And if the mirror shows you someone you could’ve been?”

Zane looked at her, eyes soft.

“Then you thank the glass for not becoming him.”

Closing Line

As Lyra turned to leave, she paused at the door.

“Zane?”

“Yes?”

“What if someone else sees a face tomorrow night?”

Zane tilted his head.

“That won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

He stepped into the shadowed hallway, smile returning—half play, half truth.

“Because we’ve taught the mirror what to forget.”