The Watcher
The Watcher
"So uh, what is that?"
The older student followed my gaze. He peered curiously up at the ceiling for a moment, then saw it.
"Ah, that. That's just The Watcher. Hasn't anyone told you yet?"
I blinked, confused. He said it so… offhandedly. As if it was something as commonplace and mundane as a ratty old sweater. I, on the other hand, had not looked away from the face since I first noticed it.
At first glance, it appeared to just be a particularly lumpy tangle of the furry, puke-yellow insulation that coated the top of the portable. Upon further inspection, you started to make out finer details. The curve of an eyebrow, the hint of a strong chin, and above that, two lips curled in a sneer of quiet disapproval.
Most notable, though, were the eyes. They were blue; an icy, hard-edged blue that seemed to stare right into your soul as they followed you around the room.
"I wouldn't look too long, if I were you." I looked at him. He was watching me with a concerned look on his face.
"Why?" I asked, worried.
"They say people go crazy staring at it. Ever hear about Chris Leibowitz?"
The name sounded familiar. I remembered seeing it on a newspaper somewhere. I nodded.
"Committed suicide. They found him right here in this building; he'd split himself open from neck to belly button." He made a slicing gesture down the front of his chest. "Had a note beside him. Buncha' ravings about how The Watcher 'knew'. No one knows what he meant by that." He paused for a moment, looking me up and down. "Wanna hear something really messed up, though?"
I swallowed nervously. "Y-yeah, sure."
"The news article they printed included a picture of Chris." He leaned in closer and gestured at The Watcher, still gazing balefully at the two of us. "He had blue eyes just like those."
The older student followed my gaze. He peered curiously up at the ceiling for a moment, then saw it.
"Ah, that. That's just The Watcher. Hasn't anyone told you yet?"
I blinked, confused. He said it so… offhandedly. As if it was something as commonplace and mundane as a ratty old sweater. I, on the other hand, had not looked away from the face since I first noticed it.
At first glance, it appeared to just be a particularly lumpy tangle of the furry, puke-yellow insulation that coated the top of the portable. Upon further inspection, you started to make out finer details. The curve of an eyebrow, the hint of a strong chin, and above that, two lips curled in a sneer of quiet disapproval.
Most notable, though, were the eyes. They were blue; an icy, hard-edged blue that seemed to stare right into your soul as they followed you around the room.
"I wouldn't look too long, if I were you." I looked at him. He was watching me with a concerned look on his face.
"Why?" I asked, worried.
"They say people go crazy staring at it. Ever hear about Chris Leibowitz?"
The name sounded familiar. I remembered seeing it on a newspaper somewhere. I nodded.
"Committed suicide. They found him right here in this building; he'd split himself open from neck to belly button." He made a slicing gesture down the front of his chest. "Had a note beside him. Buncha' ravings about how The Watcher 'knew'. No one knows what he meant by that." He paused for a moment, looking me up and down. "Wanna hear something really messed up, though?"
I swallowed nervously. "Y-yeah, sure."
"The news article they printed included a picture of Chris." He leaned in closer and gestured at The Watcher, still gazing balefully at the two of us. "He had blue eyes just like those."