The Woman at my Door

There is the outline of a woman through my front door. Every few minutes I hear her shuffle and knock again. I do not open the door.

Since living alone I had gotten into the habit of peering through the curtains of the front bay window to check who was visiting me before answering the door. Tonight that habit has certainly saved my life.

What looked like a woman from the front went very wrong from the side.

The legs are bent backwards while the thin torso is hunched to hide unexpected height. I watch quietly as it knocks and notice that the arm is connected much closer to its stomach than shoulder. It sways slightly, trying to keep balance in this awkward position.

I am unable to stop myself from peeking at it. It is a mound of features so madly put together that I cannot comprehend how it can be standing there. I try to see its face, unsure of whether a human or monstrous face would be better. It is simply a featureless mound.

I see movement from the torso and duck back behind the curtain. It does not knock and I wait in silence for several minutes before looking again.

There is the outline of a woman through my bay window. Its face now stares at me and I had guessed very wrongly about where that would be.

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