text: Tap-Tap-Tap There have been several tappings on my window in the past, usually a bird with an inept sense of direction, poor braking skills or still trying to master the art of flying. When I peer out all I can see is an almost ghostly outline of a bird, wings outstretched, smeared across the window pane. At least I have no cats to pounce on any of the concussed feathery aviators. Last night at approximately midnight I heard such a tapping. Just three short sharp taps. Tap-tap-tap. I thought nothing of it initially but thereupon came to reason that actually these winged marvels do not take to flight in darkness with the exception of owls. So what could it of been? I then thought perhaps a moth of rather gigantic proportions - it would have to be to make such a noise. Pleased with my Sherlock style powers of deduction I settled back in my plush chair and continued to read my first edition of War of the Worlds by a prolific writer with extraordinary talent, namely Herbert George Wells. I was just easing my way back into chapter three when... Tap-tap-tap. What the blazes? Not only was the moth gigantic, it was insistent as well. However, it could not of been drawn to the light as I had merely a small candle flickering away beside me while I read and I knew of no Kamikaze moths, so what could it have been? “Pesky insect,” I mumbled as I rose unsteadily from my chair and ambled across the room on unsteady, arthritic legs. I pulled back the curtains and gazed out, my breath creating mist circles on the glass. I couldn’t help noticing that my breathing was a little faster than normal. What was I so nervous about? I am in my own home, with all doors and windows locked to keep any nefarious miscreants outside, there was no reason whatsoever that I should be scared. But I was most dreadfully afeared. Squinting through the gloom I cupped my hands around my face but despite the slight improvement to my vision I could still see nothing outside. There were still numerous lights on at this late hour in town, stretching for miles in all directions, a scattering of flickering yellow stars on a black sky. Satisfied that there was nothing out there I closed the curtains and made my way back to my chair. However, I didn’t pick my book up again. I kept my hands firmly clasped upon the arm of the chair and I stared anxiously at the window, waiting for the next tap. The seconds ticked by, becoming minutes, before realising that the time was now 5 minutes past 1 o’clock. Almost trance like I had been concentrating on the window, my mind wandering off to some other time and place, losing track of time. Satisfied that the tapping had stopped I decided to make my way to bed. I shuffled across the living room, I had developed a lazy habit of dragging my feet rather than lifting them, I had paid the price with some hefty falls, but still I shuffled. I stopped at the doorway to my bedroom, holding on to the door frame, not only to steady my weary body but also to steady my nerves as if touching something tangible would allay my fears and keep the thoughts of something unreal at bay. I waited with baited breath in the doorway listening for any sounds but I could hear nothing untoward, in fact there was no sound at all as if the whole world was on mute. I shook my head more with frustration than anything, my ridiculous superstitious mind was playing tricks with me, creating frightmares from a mere tap at the window. “Stupid old fool.” I reprimanded myself, and still shaking my head I limped through to the bathroom to prepare myself for bed. With ablutions done I settled into bed pulling the sheets up under my chin. I never do this normally but tonight was different, tonight I wanted to make myself as invisible as possible for anything that may be... Screeee. What was that? Screeee. Damn these nerves! That’s the blasted pipes, they always make that noise. I have heard them so often over the years that even when they do make a sound I pay no attention. But tonight is different. Tap-tap-tap. I shook my head firmly. No, I did not hear that, that was not another tapping at the door. Absurd to think that it was. There was no tapping at the window, I am merely over tired and creating sounds that do not actually exist. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Closing my eyes I sighed heavily, my chin resting on my chest. I did hear it, this is no longer my imagination, there really was something at the window. With a mounting sense of dread I climbed out of bed and slowly made my way back into the living room. Just as I grabbed the curtains there came the all too familiar... Tap-tap-tap. With restored nerve I flung open the curtains, determined to have it out with whoever was there. They were going to get the sharp end of my tongue, make no mistake. It was time to bring this damn prankster down to earth with a bump. “WHAT THE DEVIL...”, but I never finished my reprimand. Afeared once more I fell backwards, landing heavily on my left side, I felt bones crunching unnaturally together in my wrist and hand as they bore my not inconsiderable weight. I cried out, not in pain but in shock, as my eyes beheld that which stood outside my window. A face cloaked in darkness peered back at me, his eyes tinged with a red hue shone brightly despite the gloom, sharp pointed teeth, immaculately white complete the chilling vision. I could see nothing else until an arm gradually ascended with first finger extended, pointing at me. It’s nails were almost like talons, these were evidently what had been tapping on my window. Then, impossibly, the finger seemed to morph with the glass before sliding through with the tip of the finger now inside the room. Too scared to scream or utter any sound I just stared dumbfounded at what I was seeing. “Arthur Harold Worrell,” a deep rumbling voice echoed around the room, ringing in my ears “I have come for you.” I looked around the room and noticed my slumped body in my reading chair, glasses askew and mouth slightly open. My eyes were also open but they were unseeing. I was quite dead. It was then that it all made sense, my less than holy life had caught up with me. My charge sheet of misdemeanours, large and small, was endless and it was time to re-pay. A grim smile played across my lips. “You took your time getting here!” The finish