The Woman in the Window #
13 January 2025 #
Currently sending out to magazines
Van’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the green Victorian standing vigil in the woods. The roof peaked above the tallest sycamores, head-to-head with towering evergreens. It was the house of her dreams in every way, aside from one glaring issue: a translucent woman stood in the second-floor window peering down at her, wreathed in coiling shadows and wearing an illusory nightgown.
A chill rolled down Van’s spine. She looked over to Abel, crouched in the flower garden at the edge of the lawn. He cooed, rubbing his fingers together to entice a tree frog to jump into his hands. The sight returned Van’s breath to a steady rhythm; her man could find peace in a warzone.
“Come on, baby,” Abel said in his soothing baritone. “I just want to be your friend.”
Van had already forgotten the woman in the window. “I wish you’d talk to me like that.”
Abel turned, concern spreading in his deep-set, brown eyes. A sweet grin curled around the edges of his dark beard. “I’m not going to talk to you like a frog. For you, my love,” Abel whispered in her ear, sweeping her up in his big arms. “I reserve only my most sincere words.”
Van relaxed, releasing all the tension and stress from the last few days. House hunting was exciting, but extremely taxing, and they’d already gone to a few open houses that day. She hid her hands in the fur lining of Abel’s red plaid coat, rested her head in the cradle between his shoulder and jaw.
“I love everything we’re doing,” Abel said. “We’ll find the right place soon, and hell, this might even be it.”
“It’s haunted.” Van said, clenching her teeth as the words escaped her.
“That’s just a local myth. Look at these woods, we’re all alone here!”
“No, seriously, Abel,” she pushed herself from his warm embrace, a part of her grieving the loss. “I saw a woman standing in the upstairs window. She was watching us.”
Abel looked up, but Van couldn’t bear to do so again. How could anyone dive knowingly into that beam of envious penumbra glowering down at them? That baleful glare screaming: How dare you be happy, after everything you_’ve been through? How dare you!_
“I don’t see anything, love.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
Abel’s eyes met Van’s. She was enraptured by his sincerity; had been since the moment they met. His face bore no doubt—he boasted unwavering certainty when it came to her and their life together. A few years ago Van had given up on love; but there he was, standing in front of her in the full light of evening, proving himself day after day. Abel didn’t hide when people saw him, he flourished, and he challenged Van to flourish, too.
“I’ve heard some stories about this place,” Abel said. He took Van’s hand in his, leading her to a bench at the edge of the woods, overlooked by that foggy window upstairs. Van couldn’t see the woman, but she still felt her presence, her looming judgment. Goosebumps rose on her neck. Abel shivered, then rubbed her back.
“My mom grew up five miles down the road, or so. Her and my aunts saw a lot of spooky stuff around these parts. She told me about white figures standing in the road when she drove late at night.”
Van tilted her head. She had never met Abel’s mother, nor did he speak about her much. “The woman in the window was ghastly white, like she was made of smoke.”
“When I told my aunt we were looking into this place, she told me a young couple lived here during the civil war. The husband left to fight for the Union, and every night she’d stand in the window, watching for his return…”
“He never returned, did he?”
Abel gripped the top her hand. “No. But she kept on waiting, ‘till she could wait no more.”
Van felt herself deflate; she fell into him. They sat in silence until the sun drooped lazily behind the tree line, shading the yard and the ever-watchful haunted house. Shadows encroached on all sides as the light diminished. Once, shadows seemed like hungry, wretched things; but Van was beginning to think differently about them.
She looked over her shoulder, found the glowing eyes of the woman in the window, looking down from the second story. She was dressed in a silk nightgown, standing vigilant, awaiting her husband’s return. Van was too far away to be sure, but somehow, she knew the woman wept as she observed the love she yearned for, and had for generations.
“I’m sorry,” Van said. Abel looked confused. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”
“What things?”
“I adore the way you talk to me.” Van took his bushy face in her hands and stared into his deep eyes. Moonlight shone upon then as their lips intertwined, and understanding blossomed in the garden.