The Watcher - Volume II

It was a strange feeling. The uneasy sense of being observed while home alone. A creeping unease down my spine. I'd turn suddenly, expecting to catch someone watching through a window. But there was never anyone there.

At first, I shrugged it off, chalking it up to ordinary paranoia. But the prickly feeling persisted. I couldn't shake the sense of eyes tracking my every move. The relaxation of settling into bed was replaced by a lurking tension.

Soon other odd things started happening. Misplaced items reappearing in bizarre spots. Furniture rearranged when I knew I'd left it organized. Peculiar noises with no clear origin. My nerves became increasingly frayed.

I decided my old house must have developed some troubling quirks. The floorboards creaked, pipes rattled, and hills played tricks on sounds. I called in contractors to inspect every nook and cranny for defects. But they found nothing amiss.

Installing a top-of-the-line security system brought some relief at first. But the persistent watchful presence soon returned. Now even video footage showed nothing out of place. I began to wonder if the spooky sensations were all in my head.

Late one sleepless night, I was sitting up in bed reading when a sudden movement caught my eye. A dark form seemed to dart across the bedroom into the shadows by the closet. Heart pounding, I grabbed a flashlight and carefully searched every corner. Nothing.

The next night I stayed up purposely waiting to see if the phantom visitor would return. Just after midnight, I glimpsed a blurry shape emerge from the wall by the window. It skittered briefly around the room before disappearing through the closed bedroom door. I rushed to follow it, but the house was empty.

Clearly whatever I had seen was not bound by physical laws. I knew I should have been terrified by such supernatural manifestations. But oddly I felt no menace from my spectral watcher. Just curiosity about why it was here.

I decided to try communicating with the entity, hoping it would reveal its nature and intent. For many fruitless nights I sat up calling softly into the darkness, listening intently for any response. I introduced myself and asked it to show itself. But only silence followed.

Later I left a notepad and pen on the nightstand, asking my invisible companion to write if it could. In the morning I awoke eagerly, but the paper was blank. The same thing happened when I left out voice recorders. I could sense its presence, but there was no definitive sign.

However, one quiet rainy evening while reading, I began to feel profoundly sad without knowing why. Tears welled up as I was overwhelmed with longing and remorse though nothing had happened. I addressed the room, pleading to understand this sorrow.

Suddenly the sensations lifted as quickly as they came. I realized with astonishment that I had somehow tapped into my spectral observer's emotions. It was mourning something - either a deed or a loss I couldn't comprehend. But at least now I knew it was intelligent, even if our means of communication were limited.

In the following weeks, I continued trying to detach myself and be open to any feelings or impressions my phantom companion shared. Brief visceral sensations came - fear, confusion, desperation. But the predominant undercurrent was a profound isolation and loneliness unlike any I'd experienced.

I became convinced the entity was stranded here, unable to fully manifest or return to wherever its kind belonged. My earlier wariness was replaced with a desire to offer solace to this lost soul. So, each night I opened my mind and heart, sending it light, forgiveness and hope.

One morning I awoke to find three words scratched faintly onto my nightstand: "Thank you friend." I gasped, blinking back grateful tears, and whispered, "You're welcome." After that, the uneasy sensations vanished. My watchful ghost was freed from this place between realms.

I've since moved out and another family lives in that house now. But on clear nights when the stars are bright, I'll stand outside, look up at the vast cosmos all around us, and send a silent greeting to the traveler who once visited my room. Wishing it peace in whatever far journey still lies ahead.

"The Watcher" by Oscar Mendieta Bravo