Just a Hobby
I’ve got a weird hobby.
At night, I like to climb up to the rooftop of my house and look out over the town through my binoculars.
There’s something oddly exciting about watching the city when it’s gone quiet—when everything’s still, like it’s holding its breath.
Sometimes I just stare at the giant water tank in the distance.
Other times, I watch a taxi struggling up the slope with a drunk guy slumped in the back.
Or I’ll fixate on a lonely vending machine glowing way too bright under the streetlight.
On the west side of my house, there's this long, straight hill that leads directly down toward me.
From the rooftop, I can see the whole thing—start to finish—like a stage set just for me.
One night, I was watching the vending machine at the side of that hill, thinking,
“Huh… looks like a big moth is fluttering around out there,”
when I noticed something barreling down the slope at full speed.
I zoomed in with my binoculars.
It was... this naked, freakishly skinny child-looking thing, sprinting toward me like a maniac—grinning from ear to ear, waving at me like we were old friends.
Its eyes were locked on mine.
No question—it knew I was there.
I just stood there, frozen, watching it rush down the hill.
But then this gut-deep instinct kicked in: This is bad. Really bad.
I tore myself away from the rooftop, sprinted down the stairs, and locked myself inside the house.
I slammed the door shut, locked it, and started panicking—
“Oh crap oh crap oh crap, what the hell was that thing?!”
Then I heard it.
Thudthudthudthudthud!
Footsteps racing up the stairs to the rooftop.
It was definitely looking for me.
I was whispering to myself like a broken record—
“This is bad. This is seriously bad. What the hell is this.”
I crouched down in the middle of the living room, gripping the iron (yeah, that was my weapon of choice) in both hands, trying not to make a sound.
A few moments later—
Thudthudthudthud!
It came back down the stairs.
I was shaking so hard I thought I’d lose it, and then—
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!
It was pounding on the front door.
The doorbell started going off in this insane rhythm—
Ding dong! Ding-dong-ding! Diiing! DONG!
And then I heard it.
A voice—more like a moan—
“Hnnnghh… unnnh… hnnngh… unnnh…”
My heart skipped a beat, then kicked back in like a war drum.
I was still trembling, barely breathing.
Then, after maybe thirty seconds, the knocking stopped.
The doorbell went silent.
The moaning too.
It was… quiet again.
But no way in hell was I relaxing.
I stayed in that spot, frozen, gripping the iron until sunrise.
I don’t know what the hell that thing was.
All I know is—I’m never using those binoculars at night again.
