peeking

Later…

Sitting in the living room, talking with my wife while our daughter plays . . . I see someone peek around the corner of the entry leading into the dining room, a brief flash like someone pokes their head out for a quick look and then ducked back behind the wall when I looked in their direction.

Still cheating with my wife, I rise and go to have a look.

Nothing. No one.

I sit back down and we continue our conversation. Over the next few minutes the peeking face pops out again five or six times. Irritating.

I check again, making sure no one is there. It’s starting to wear on me. I have this feeling someone is deliberately messing with me.

The face is round-cheeked, almost cartoonish. With high brows and a surprised expression. I am reminded, vaguely, of Randy Quaid.

The skin on my forearms stings, as though sunburned. My hair stands on end. I am chilled.

One last time the face pops out. This time it has changed. No longer the goofy expression, now the eyes are dark pits and the gaping mouth flaps open, an insane toothless maw. Horrid.

When I get scared, I get angry. And I am very angry now.

My wife asks “Are you okay?”

“I’m having a bit of a problem at the moment.”

After filling her in, I burn some myrrh and juniper — offering to the gods and banishing anything else.

Nothing for the rest of the night, but the clammy feeling left by the memory of that hideous face still clings to me.