The Midnight Window Washer

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Molly was watching as she listened to the storm outside pound her windows and walls, echoing into her first floor apartment. By the looks of it, it wasn’t going to be looking up.
“John, there is absolutely no way you are not driving home in this weather,” she called back to her brother. “It is far too dangerous! The roads could be terrible." Her older brother came out of the backroom and rested the palms of his hands onto her shoulders.

“Relax, Molly. It’s just another thunderstorm. I’ll be ok,” He soothed her. He went away back into the backroom and started to pack his bags again. He had come up to Boston to visit his sister for a week. Now that the week was up, he was being called back to work again.

“I know, but this kind of weather breeds serial killers. Promise me you’ll be careful, John!” After she pleaded her brother of his safety, the power went out in the house. John started cursing as he stumped his toe on a dresser while Molly stood in silence, frozen in her spot out of fear to move.

Just then, Molly heard an eerie noise coming from her window. She could make out a dirty white cloth moving in a circular motion around her windows; but nothing else could be made out in the dark. John called out that he was going to check the power box in the back to try to fix it as Molly heard the front door slam behind his voice. When it did, the mysterious cloth disappeared with John into the night. A few seconds later, she heard a scuffle outside the window. She heard the terror in John’s voice and a knife slicing the midnight air. After moments of silence, a stroke of lightning struck the earth and lit up the sky. In that instant, Molly saw in the bloodstained window an ominous face with dark eyes staring back at her, holding a now bloody cloth. He began opening up the window and started to climb in. Molly raced to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She reached for her cell phone that was in her pocket and tried dialing for the police. Through tears and shaky fingers, she pressed the number nine button and the one button twice. The window washer was already breaking down the door. Before she could press call, He was behind her with a large bloody kitchen knife with John’s blood on it.

In a threatening voice as he raised his knife, the man whispered, “Need your windows washed, ma’am?”





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