The writer's window

Rainy night:

That rainy July night, I sat at my cold wooden desk, beside the warm light of our old gas lamp, chewing the tip of my fountain pen and staring at the empty paper.I had no idea for my new novel. The wall in front of my desk held a large wooden window. A thin layer of mist covered the glass, blurred by the cold rain, but I could still see the empty Willow Street beyond it.

Every house was facing the street, including mine, but one house didn't. It was facing my house. I can see the door because of the mist. Everything was blurry, except for a soft yellow light. It was an old wooden door, best welcome written on it. The house was an old wooden house. I could see some cracks on it. I didn't know who lived in that house. Honestly, I didn't know who lived in the house along the street. I had only arrived that morning, exhausted from the journey. I hadn't paid much attention to my surroundings after arriving. I simply went to sleep.

The house looked unsettling.I had an idea for a horror novel where I could use a house like this.

At 3:33

I completed one chapter of my novel. I was feeling thirsty. I stood up from my chair, grabbed an iron jug, beside my bed and then set it on my table and started thinking about the next chapter. I complete one chapter in half an hour. At this speed, I will complete my novel by dawn. The rain had stopped.I took a break from writing. I wiped a small patch of mist from the window with my finger, drawing little shapes, and then I saw a man in a black overcoat. He had long, messy hair, and his coat was wet. He reached the door of the improper house and knocked at the door.

“Knock.”

The house, which was dark, suddenly glowed with soft yellow light from the window. The light inside the house was so dim that I wondered how anyone living there could see anything at night. The man knocked again. Nobody opened the door. He knocked again, the yellow light went black. He knocked much harder.I could hear that sound very clearly then.

Silence.

The atmosphere became silent again. Then suddenly ,he began pounding  violently on the wooden door. The sound became much louder.

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

I covered my ears, but the sound seemed to grow louder with every blow. My ears began to ache. The sound seemed to grow louder with every blow. My ears began to ache. Loud noises had always bothered me. The sound became very loud, but nobody came to stop him.

I was so frustrated that I finally snapped. I slammed my hand against the desk. I threw my pen on the floor. It broke, I started leaking and stood up. Then I yanked the window open with a sharp crack.

“Can you just stop this, nobody will come for you!”

He started beating the door with more power. I threw my wooden Pen case on him. The box landed on his feet. He didn't stop. I slammed the window shut. I was furious. I knew there was nothing I could do about that crazy man, so I eventually gave up and went to bed.

I pulled my pillow tightly over my ears, trying to block out the sound. The pounding was still going on outside. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep.

Next morning-

I woke up with a headache, feeling thirsty. I grabbed the jug and drank some water. I was thinking, How could I teach that man a lesson? Do not disturb anybody. I am still angry. I put on my long coat and headed toward the door. I was going to find that man myself. And then I saw ink on the floor. I looked down and saw my broken fountain pen lying there. I picked it up and placed it on my desk. And then I saw… saw the house was gone. I could feel my heart pounding. I fell to the floor , panicking. rushed toward the street. There is just an empty ground beside  . Between the tall grasses, I could see my pen and my pencil case lying there.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty ground where the house had been. My pencil case was lying among the tall grass.I picked it up and looked back at the empty space one last time. Then I turned and walked home, trying to convince myself that everything I had seen was just a dream.