It was the evening before my birthday, and I was sitting in my room working on that night’s algebra homework.  As I was working the last problem I heard a thumping at my window.  My blood turned to ice as I set down my pencil moved the curtain away with my slightly, shaking hand.  A feeling of relief overwhelmed my body after realizing it was merely a branch.  Slowly I sat back down at my desk silently laughing at myself for getting so worked up about a plant. 
Later that evening I climbed into the comfort of my bed and drifted into a dreamless sleep.  Around midnight I awoke with a start, and after assessing the area for a moment I came to the conclusion that the branch from earlier that evening was to blame for my awakening.  However, this did not seem to calm my nerves, but instead only make them race even more because when I looked out the window this time I saw a petit face staring back at me in the yard.  With my heart racing I closed the curtains, and insisted that it was only my imagination.  It seemed to work for a while, but there was a part of me, almost like a sixth sense nagging me all night long about the face.
In the morning I had all but forgotten the face.  It had disappeared from my brain like a faint dream.  I had too much on my mind to think about figments of my strange imagination.  With last minute shopping to do before my party, and school I was completely distracted, unfortunately though this feeling did not seem to last.  The previous night’s phenomenon came back to me like a shark attack during homeroom.  As my teacher was taking role call I heard a thumping on the window.  My head shot around like a bullet, but nothing was there.  I turned to my friend Emily, “Did you hear that? Did you hear that thumping?” I whispered in a hushed tone.  She gave me a look that told me I was crazy and went back to her drawing.
This seemed to be the trend throughout my classes.  I was going insane I told myself, but I still believed I heard it. 
When I arrived home I decided to do my schoolwork in the kitchen instead of my bedroom.  After about ten minutes or so I heard a knock on the door.  My blood ran still, my heart skipped a beat, and time stopped as I looked out the peephole at a little girl that I use to know.  She died when we were seven from a car accident`.  We shared a birthday, and she would come over every year on our birthday at midnight with cake.  She was the face last night.