On a snowy winter night, a lonely widow notices a mysterious figure watching her from across the street, leading her to uncover a truth that will change everything she thought she knew about love and loss.
The wind howled down the narrow street, rattling the old glass panes of Clara’s window. She sat in her usual spot, a worn armchair nestled in the corner, wrapped in the comfort of a knitted shawl. The full moon cast its pale glow over the snow-covered street below, painting everything in a bluish-white hue. It was quiet—just the way Clara liked it.
Her row home at the end of the block was her sanctuary, even if it felt emptier these days. With her husband James gone for nearly five years, the house seemed to echo more than it used to, the creaks and groans of the old floorboards a reminder of its solitude.
Clara sighed, letting her gaze drift out the window. She found comfort in watching the street at night, the way the snow sparkled in the moonlight, how the streetlamp cast long shadows. It was her nightly ritual, a tether to the world outside.
But tonight was different.
A figure stood across the street.
Clara squinted, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t unusual to see someone walking their dog or a passerby bundled against the cold, but this person wasn’t walking. They were still, facing her window. Watching.
A shiver ran down her spine.
The figure was too far away to make out any details, but their posture was unmistakable—head tilted slightly upward, shoulders squared. For a moment, Clara considered turning off the lamp beside her, but her hands refused to move.
She blinked, and the figure was gone.
Clara let out a shaky laugh. “Imagination,” she muttered, trying to convince herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her, even long after the figure disappeared.
The next night, she looked for them.
Her tea sat untouched on the side table as she scanned the street. The full moon had risen again, and the snow gleamed just as brightly. At first, the street seemed empty. Then she saw it—the figure.
Same spot. Same posture. Watching.
This time, Clara didn’t look away. “Who are you?” she whispered, though the words evaporated into the silence of the room. She reached for her phone, her hand trembling, but paused. What would she say? That someone was standing outside? That they were... staring? She didn’t even know if it was real.
When she glanced back, the figure was gone again.
By the third night, Clara was determined to act.
The figure returned, as she knew it would, standing motionless across the street. A rush of frustration and curiosity overtook her fear. She grabbed her coat, pulled it tightly around her, and stepped outside.
The cold air bit at her cheeks as she shuffled across the icy sidewalk, her boots crunching in the snow. The figure didn’t move.
As she got closer, the details of the figure became clearer. It was a man, his face hidden beneath the brim of a hat, his coat hanging loosely over his frame. Something about his stance felt familiar, though Clara couldn’t place it.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Why are you watching me?”
The man lifted his head, and Clara’s heart stopped.
It was James.
Or, at least, it looked like him. The same deep-set eyes, the strong jawline she had traced so many times with her fingertips. But James was gone, wasn’t he? She had buried him. She knew she had.
“James?” Her voice cracked.
“I promised you,” he said, his voice low and distant, like a breeze carried over the snow.
Clara’s chest tightened. “Promised me what?”
His gaze softened, and he took a step closer. “I promised I’d always come back to you. I didn’t want to leave you alone, Clara. But... I couldn’t rest. Not until I kept my word.”
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling onto her cheeks. “You... you’re not real. You can’t be.”
James smiled—a sad, familiar smile. “I never stopped loving you. But it’s time now, Clara. Time for me to go.”
The wind swirled around them, and just like that, he was gone, dissolving into the moonlight like smoke.
Clara stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the empty spot where he had been. The cold seeped into her bones, but she didn’t care. She felt... lighter. As though a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying had been lifted.
When she returned to her chair that night, the street below seemed brighter. The silence of the house no longer felt empty but peaceful.
And for the first time in five years, Clara felt at ease.
The End
by Belle Webb | Profile
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