Beware the Man on Cherry Street

At the end of the block, in a crumbling brick house, lives the man with no face. If the sun is out, he is not. He only goes outside when he can hide within the dark blankets of the night. Every night I see his shadow in his backyard. Always pacing—back and forth. Back and forth. It's like clockwork. Many nights I have fallen asleep watching his rhythmic pacing from my bedroom window. It's almost hypnotizing. It has become an obsession. I don't know how to stop.

This all began when we moved here a couple months ago. It’s a small town and gossip spreads faster than wildfire. My mom had brought me with her to the convenience store and the cashier didn’t recognize us like the rest of the townies. She had asked my mother if we were the ones who just moved into the old house on Cherry Street. When my mom said yes, I watched the women’s entire body shudder violently. I could tell my mom was confused, we looked at each other for a moment when the cashier said, “Beware the man on Cherry Street. Beware the man that never eats. Beware the man with no face. He doesn’t dare leave his place. Beware the man on Cherry Street.”

When we got home, I was quick to tell my dad what had happened. But he didn’t bat an eye. “Small towns are always full of silly gossip,” he laughed.

When I went to bed that night, the words of the cashier kept echoing in my head. That’s when I saw it. My bedroom was on the second floor and it towered over the small houses around us. I could see the neighborhood from my bedroom window. Two houses over, in the backyard, I saw the blurred profile of a man pacing. The words kept playing in my head, “Beware the man with no face.”

Now it has been months since that first night, and I have never seen him leave the house during the day. Watching him has become my obsession. I’ve walked by his house almost everyday and you’d never know that anyone lived in it. The bricks are crumbling away, the lawn is dead, and there’s a foul stench when the wind blows through. I’ve tried talking to my parents about it, but they have no interest in that house or the rumors. Once I even mentioned the shadowy-figure, but they chalked that up to my imagination running wild while being half-asleep. I was completely alone in this.

It was once again time for bed, but I decided to try something different tonight. I closed my blinds. I was not going to stare out my window tonight. But as I tossed and turned, the words echoed menacingly in my head, “Beware the man that never eats.” That’s when I heard a loud noise outside; it sounded like something crashing through a fence. Surely, someone else heard it too?! I quickly jumped out of bed and peeked across the hall into my parents bedroom—sound asleep. How did that not wake them? I slid back into bed and tried to fight the urge to look outside. I mean, what was that noise? Just one quick look. I pulled one blind down, just to get a peek, when my eyes locked with a pair of glowing red eyes. I felt frozen. He was still just a dark, shadowy figure but those eyes—it was as if he was staring into my soul. I closed my eyes super tight, trying to convince myself it wasn’t real. When I opened them, he was gone. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I am just incredibly exhausted.

The next day I felt a small sense of relief. I was almost convinced this shadow figure had been the product of my imagination. But when I went out for my morning walk that all changed fast. The wood fence that normally encompassed the crumbling house had been destroyed. If that loud noise was real, maybe he was real, too? I ran back home deciding I couldn't finish my walk. I was too distraught. As the day went on, I grew more worrisome, for I didn't want night to come. I didn't want to see him again, those piercing red eyes were still glowing fiercely in my mind. But at the end of the day, sure enough, the sun went down and the heavy blanket of darkness fell upon us. My parents could sense that something was off with me tonight. I didn't want to tell them. I knew they wouldn't believe me.

"Whoa, would you look at that moon!" my dad exclaimed. I looked out the kitchen window with him to find the glowing full moon—it was so bright. That was what I needed tonight. There was no way the man could hide in the shadows tonight.

I went up for bed, snuggled into my blankets, and turned to face the window. The one blind that I had pulled down last night was still cracked open. Oh, what the hell. I peeked through the crack and there he was. Standing in the moonlight, a full-bodied man, without a face. Where his face should've been was a blur of black with piercing red eyes that once again met my own. I wanted to look away. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted to run. But I couldn't move my body and when I tried to open my mouth, no noise came out. As we continued to stare at each other, I felt this pull in every part of me. An invisible force was pulling me out of my bed, down the stairs, and before I knew it, outside. I couldn't scream for help, tears were escaping my eyes, but I just continued to walk toward that crumbling brick house. When I made it to the backyard and we were face to face, the invisible pull broke and I fell to my knees screaming in horror. He grabbed my tear soaked face in his hands and we were one. I was seeing the world through his eyes. I looked down and saw my body, collapsed on the ground. Suddenly, my body stood up and looked at me smirking.

"Beware the man on Cherry Street. Beware the man that never eats. Beware the man with no face. He doesn't dare leave his place. Beware the man on Cherry Street."

I was now the man on Cherry Street.