Between Sleep And Wake

Open Windows

The wind blew in, cold and bitter. The breeze made her shudder.

Sounds hissed in her ears. That wind was strong; it was vicious. It made the walls creek.

And she woke up, her bare feet slamming against the wooden floor as she walked towards the window and closed it shut.

She hadn't opened it; she'd have recollection of it, had she done it. Someone else did it.

Wendy never opened the window. She left it closed. Always.

This intrusion into her room angered her. And she needed to vocalize the discontent.

She headed out of her room and into the hallway, searching for any lights that were still on. Then poked into the room that belonged to her friend, Emma.

Emma was sitting by her oak desk, writing, immersed in her own words. The lamp beside her was the only source of light.

She must have heard Wendy's footsteps, as she raised her head and turned in her chair to glance up. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"I wasn't," Wendy replied. "Why were you in my room?"

"You had thrown your sheets aside. You seemed--"

Wendy didn't truly want an explanation. Emma should have known it wasn't right to traipse into a bedroom uninvited. She had been living with Wendy long enough to realize it bothered her. "Don't walk into my room when I'm asleep," she spat.

"Your room was very warm. I opened your window to welcome a flurry of fresh air."

"Why?" Wendy asked, although she didn't really care to know. There was no justifying the invasion of privacy!

"Because you appeared to be in discomfort from the heat. I didn't think it would anger you so much," Emma replied.

"You shouldn't have done that." There were boundaries one wasn't entitled to cross. Regardless of any circumstances.

"If you were this peculiar about it I wouldn't have done it. I won't do it again." Emma let out a slight groan and rolled her eyes before directing her focus back to her writing. She was clearly annoyed when she had no right to be.

Wendy shook her head at her friend's blatant disregard for personal space.

She went back to her room, stopping by the entrance and staring at the window with widened eyes.

It was open.

She had closed it before she left, hadn't she? She was certain she had.

This wasn't Emma's doing. Emma had been in her room. There was no one else in this house besides the two of them.

It was closed. She'd closed it.

Running frantically towards it, she stared out into the night. There were bright lights strewn over the town, like tiny fireflies bringing life to the darkness. Her room was located on the second floor; she glanced down to see nothing. No one was around. No one could have climbed up anyway. There was no proper form of access.

She shut the window hard; the impact made a loud bang.

It was him. It had to be.

But she didn't see him anywhere.

--------------

The next morning, it was open again.

While she had been previously irate with Emma, Wendy hoped that perhaps her friend had forgotten their brief spat last night and had done it again. It was better than the alternative, that he was the one who'd done it.

Wendy changed out of her nightgown and went downstairs into the kitchen, where Emma was making breakfast. "Did you open my window again?"

"No, I won't be making the same mistake," Emma said, although her tone seemed soft. She obviously wasn't as exasperated now with Wendy's reaction as she had been last night.

"But . . . it was open. If it wasn't you, who was it?"

"Perhaps it was a ghost," Emma said with a grin, drawing the last word for effect. "He must have an affinity for opening windows. Maybe he fell out a window?"

"It's not funny. It was open when I went back into my room at night. I closed it . . . and when I woke up this morning, it was open."

"You could have done it yourself in the middle of the night without realizing you did. We do ridiculous things when we're fatigued." The food was already placed out on the round wooden table. Emma stood by the sink with a mug of coffee in her grasp, which she sipped after she spoke.

"I didn't. I would certainly remember. I'm never that fatigued," Wendy argued. She suffered from insomnia, which made it difficult for her to fall in too deep of a sleep that she'd awaken in the middle of the night, utterly delirious.

"It's just a window, Wendy. You're acting really odd."

"I'm not!" Wendy said defensively. "Wouldn't it worry you if your desk inexplicably moved to the other side of your room and you knew you didn't do it yourself?"

"Why would I move my desk?" Emma questioned, narrowing her eyes.

"I didn't--" Wendy stopped herself. It was obvious that Emma wasn't even listening to her, showcasing her apparent disinterest, staring down at her mug as she sipped. "Never mind. I'll just eat my breakfast." Wendy pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh, thank you Emma! Thank you dearly for making this breakfast! That's what you usually say if your friend makes you breakfast before you decide to eat it."

Wendy was in no mood for Emma's sass. She consumed her food quietly, wondering if she was overreacting. It was a window. It was just a window. She didn't need to dwell on it.

She knew that was a lie. Windows didn't open by themselves without the assistance of actual human hands. The pressure of strong, heavy winds couldn't even do that. Someone had opened it. They had done it twice.

Now she was even more certain it was him. Why? Why do it and then disappear?

Unless he had come into her room after opening the window and she hadn't noticed. He could have hid somewhere inside, like in the closet. He had done it before. Many times. He crept into her room and watched her sleep; watched her intently. And she hadn't found out until he told her about it.

"I wonder if it's a handsome ghost?" Emma wandered aloud.

Wendy knew she was joking but she wasn't amused.

"A very handsome one. With a lovely smile that can make a woman swoon!"

Unable to take these stupid comments and pretend assumptions, Wendy swiftly rose from her chair. "Please, stop." She could feel tears forming and tried to suppress them as best as she could.

Uninterested in what else Emma had to say about the possible handsome ghost with the nice smile, Wendy left the kitchen. She also didn't want her friend to see her crying, see how terrified she was.

Wendy wasn't scared of ghosts. She didn't believe in them.

But she did believe in boys who could fly.

Like Peter Pan.