Cold, dead eyes peering through the window watched Sam as she collected empty pizza boxes and stacked them neatly on the table. They followed her as she picked up glasses, walked them to the kitchen and returned to do the same with the plates. They widened as she scooped up used napkins, popped them into an empty pizza box and carried the boxes to the door, preparing to go out to the garbage.

The eyes blinked rapidly as she placed the trash on the floor by the shoes, excited for the door to open, eager to see her walk outside alone and unaware. The eyes closed slowly, remaining shut for a beat, enjoying the darkness as they visualized what could happen next, what would happen next. And when they opened to see the light shining on her, they blinked again, ready for what was about to happen.

The realization that she had opted to take the trash out later made the eyes bulge with blinding rage that only dimmed to anger after eyelids squeezed together forcefully, deliberately, repeatedly. Only then could the eyes once again focus on the target.

The eyes locked on her as she walked back into the kitchen and washed the dishes, meticulously scrubbing each glass and plate clean before rinsing them with hot water.

They stared as she yawned and stretched, glued to her as she unzipped her thick fleece top as far as the zipper extended down her chest. The heat from the dishes had made the skin on her collarbone glisten with sweat. A gloved hand wiped away the condensation formed from hot breath on glass that blocked the eyes from being able to view inside. The eyes narrowed, not yet ready to move from their spot behind the window.

She walked into an office and the eyes shifted with her, fixed on her and only her. They could see movement in the room through the door frame. Glimpses of tent material and poles and arms and other body parts came in and out of view. And then an assembled tent and half of a body as it stood straight and unmoving for seconds that ticked by into minutes.

The eyes blinked impatiently, until, finally, she emerged from the room. Had she looked up at the window, she would have seen the ghost-like face with the angry eyes and their bright white rims staring directly at her. But she had her head down, her own eyes on something small in her hand, something that had distracted her from seeing.

The lights flickered off and the eyes squinted into the darkness, desperate to detect shapes or movement, determined to spot her. Slowly, the eyes dilated as they adjusted to the dimness, then squinted again, this time with glee from locating what they had been searching for.

The eyes followed her as she walked into the bathroom, plugged the tub and ran the tap, watching the steam rise like tentacles from the water. They saw her make a brief appearance in the hall before disappearing again into her bedroom, leaving only her shadow to hunt.

Breaking away from her, the eyes surveyed the room, the windows, the doors. The eyes turned a shade darker. It was time.

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