I look at my wristwatch shortly after I hear the front door slam shut. My parents shouldn't be back for another two or three hours, so until then, I have the house all to myself. I make my way into the living room, where I plop down with the remote and start flicking through channels. It's mostly news, with the occasional exception being paid programming or some preacher going on about salvation. I sigh and decide to actually get some schoolwork done. I don't normally do homework, but I'm just that bored and besides; the assignment was due yesterday. As I casually throw the remote to the side to get up, it bounces off the couch cushion and onto the floor, hitting the source button on the corner of the coffee table. The TV screen flickers for an instant, and then shows a live video feed from one of the closed-circuit cameras installed in and around my house. I stare at the screen. The camera, installed just above the garage door and facing outwards, is aimed directly down the driveway. A couple walks by with a dog. There is no audio. I watch a little longer, intrigued by the thought of being able to see others without them seeing me. Eventually after not much happens, I get up.
I walk down the darkened hallway to my room. I pick up the binder on my desk with one arm and a piece of paper, a pencil and an eraser in the other. Barely avoiding dropping anything, I reach for a small pencil sharpener as well. I hobble back to the living room, my arms completely full. I sit back down on the couch and drop everything onto the coffee table. The pencil rolls off the edge and as I bend over to pick it up, I catch a glimpse of a dark shape on the television screen. I immediately shift my glance to the screen. It's just a cat crossing the road. Pencil in hand and ready to finish what I barely began, I start scribbling sentences onto the lined paper. In truth, I have no idea what I'm writing about; rearranging phrases from the textbooks is my specialty and I'm not good for much else.
After about 15 entire minutes of power-working, I finish the paper. I collapse back into the warm, inviting cushions of the sofa. I look at the television before I pick up the remote, and suddenly stop dead in my tracks. My hand freezes. My eyes widen. My heart beats faster and faster until I can feel it pounding in my head. A tall, spindly figure stands at the end of the driveway facing the house. From what I can make out, it's trying to look in through the front windows. When I regain mobility, I run as fast as possible to the front door and make sure it's locked. I do the same with the back door, and all the windows. Whatever it is, my parents can deal with it when they get home. I peek out from my bedroom window briefly before locking it, and sure enough, it's still there at the end of the driveway. Staring at me. I creep back downstairs, nervous that the slightest sound might alert it to my whereabouts. I return to my seat on the couch and duck down so it can't see my silhouette. I watch the unmoving shadow on the television screen nearly without blinking.
Minutes pass, then an hour; my gaze is glued to the TV. It's been standing there for over an hour without moving. It's not human. I want to pull a blanket over my head and hide, but I don't want to make any sudden movements. I can feel it watching me even though the blinds are closed. The hair on my arms is standing on end. There's a strange, heavy feeling to the air like at any minute I might suffocate. I jump when I hear a car go by outside. I turn around for a second to watch it; to see if they see the creature. But they don't. They just keep on driving. I turn back to the monitor and the bottom of my stomach drops out. The car never showed up on the screen; I should be able to see it just exiting the view of the camera now, but instead all I see is the dark road. The creature still appears there, but when I take another look outside, I can't see it anymore. The screen has been frozen for more than an hour. I can feel it watching me even though the blinds are closed because it doesn't need to see through them anymore. It found a way in.