The stillness of the night is what caught me off-guard. It was a late summer night, as I recall, and I was sitting in my room, enjoying the cool air.
My house was in a small neighborhood, a small townhouse, practically undistinguishable from the rest. The only thing that really stood out about the house was a large window that stuck out to the west, overlooking the lush, green forest. And that was where I was sitting. The window was in my bedroom, which was decorated in a deep maroon and a drab olive color, my favorites. The wood work was stained cherry and furnished to match. The dark wood made the room seem smaller than it really was, but I liked that; it made me feel safe.
I sat in the window seat, wearing a pastel purple tank top and my most comfortable baby blue shorts. My long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. I had been doing a crossword puzzle but had ended up staring off into the trees outside the open window or at the cul-de-sac as the streetlights turned on. I absently tapped my orange Bic pencil against my leg, subconsciously listening to the spare lead rattle inside.
The more I think of it, the more I remember. This was many years ago, but every little detail seems to have stuck so clearly in my mind. I was drinking pink lemonade, my favorite at the time. I can taste it now, just thinking about it.
As the sun dipped behind the trees and darkness fell, the crickets began to chirp, so subtly that I didn't even notice when they started - only when they stopped. It was so sudden, that I dropped my pencil in surprise and leaned in for a closer look. The book of crossword puzzles slid off my lap. I vaguely felt the grainy newsprint paper as it brushed my leg.
On first glance, there was nothing abnormal outside, except for the silence, of course. I quickly scanned the yard and saw nothing. After several minutes of looking, I finally saw him.
There, leaning idly against the lamp post, standing impossibly tall, was a man in a suit with no face.