Lydia lay silent, unmoving, holding her breath in her bed as the shadows closed in around her. Tonight, she had prepared for the intrusion, and she would discover who watched her so quietly at night.
The clock ticked, the only sound in her bedroom, counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours. He appeared every night now, around two o'clock, and that witching hour arrived in just a few minutes. Her anxiety skyrocketed as she watched the hand move around in a circle, and she strained her ears, wanting to hear that mild breathing which had become familiar to her, even lulling her to sleep at times.
There would be no such lullaby tonight.
She thought she heard a clink at the window, and Lydia froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing up and sending an electrical tingle down her spine. But no sound followed, and she was ready to scream her frustration.
Several more minutes passed, and the sound repeated, this time with the soft hiss of a sigh. Attuning herself to the rhythm of the breathing pattern, so faint she almost decided she'd imagined it, she smiled to herself. Her visitor had arrived.
With painfully slow movement, she curled her fingers around the string and began pulling, her eyes closed and all her energy focused on audio reception. When she felt tension, she counted to three silently and gave a sharp, microscopic tug. The other end, tied to the lamp switch, flicked the light on so instantly and unexpectedly that her visitor was caught as if rooted to his spot, crouching in her window.
Sitting up in bed, Lydia blinked several times at the...boy? Man? What was he?
She broke the silence first. "How long have you been watching me?"
He raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was here?"
"I asked you first."
"Three weeks, two days." His tone was deadpan, but his voice was seductive, lyrical, a tenor pitch that drew nails gently down her back with a shiver in response.
She huffed. "Why?"
He shook his head. "I answered your question, you answer mine now."
What childish play! Fine, she would answer with a childish response. "I heard you breathing, woke up and saw your shadow. Figured I'd put it in the drawer and keep it till you came back."
He self-consciously touched the points of his ears. "Alright, I get it. I'm not Peter Pan, and I'm no Lost Boy. So no more cracking jokes."
She smirked and started to say something, but as she formed the words, he snapped his fingers, and nothing came out. Magic? Should she be frightened, intrigued, or indignant. He chuckled and snapped again, and her voice returned mid-sentence. "...acting like a child, maybe I wouldn't poke fun at you." She drew the cover up farther around her, covering her chest and her scant clothing. "And by the way, what right do you have to take away my voice? You're the intruder. I should have you arrested."
He rolled his eyes. "Right. Call the police and tell them you have a nameless pointy-eared fairy creature at your window. They'll come alright, and there'll be a lock-up, but it won't be me, and you won't go to jail; you'll go to the psych hospital."
He was probably right, but he'd brought up another point. "Well, if you're going to sit in my window and spy on me in my skivvies, the least you could do is tell me your name."
His face scrunched like a young boy's as he considered that. "If I tell you my name, will you let me touch your hair?"
His odd request took her off guard. "Why do you want to touch my hair?"
He held out a hand and made a motion like he was caressing it. "The silken black waves...they call to me. They shine in the dark." As he spoke, a soft blue light glowed around her, and she pulled a lock in front of her face. Her hair did shine, as if it had its own power source. Her eyes grew large, and she swallowed audibly.
