Poor reader.  I cannot say I envy you the trial of allowing this story to unfold before your eager eyes.  And I do not mean this in a vague sense, applying to anyone who might read this story.  I mean you.  Personally.  It is no accident that this manuscript is now in your hands, and, despite what you might be thinking, very careful steps have been taken to ensure that this be read before you lay your head down for the night.
    Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am the stick that God is about to ram through the spokes of your life.  And you are- well, of course I know who you are.  You are the person who was asleep last night as I watched through the window.
    The cold didn’t bother me so much last night, as I was kept warm by the sight of your dreaming face and the anticipation of our eventual meeting.  And so, through the curtains of rain, I sat and I waited, smiling all the while.  Such a tranquilly still sleep as yours I have not felt in years.  I can only assume, this is due to the fact that you are not plagued by violent Orders being shrieked at you from the depths of your intestines.
    After marveling at your complete innocence, I was attacked by the cruelest cry-fit ever experienced, and the only way to fight it off was by grunting like a wounded beast.  I don’t know exactly why I started sobbing disgustingly, but I did not feel cleanly rinsed of pent-up feelings afterwards, as most criers are supposed to.  Instead, my tears were full of bubbling confusion and terror, being completely alone.  But the crying would get me nowhere, so I forced the gushing to stop with an array of smacks to my face and punches to the chest.
    Finally composed, though physically messed, a new wave of determination settled over me, and I found myself as emotionless as the knife tucked into my belt.  Aside from being used as a food and flesh slicing device, the right knife is also a very effective screwdriver, which can be handy in many of life’s varying situations.  With the right knife, a lonely man can suddenly find himself with many new games.
    I was then pressed against the window, long enough to gain some certainty that your dream was deep enough to keep you involved during my entrance into your night.  After five minutes of careful observation, I had deduced that entry would be much easier than I first imagined.  All that stood between my Orders and their follow-through was a mesh screen and an unlocked window.  And the screen even had a handle, for convenience sake.  The pulsing rain was quite useful, not only to drown out any unnatural sound I might produce, but also as a lubricant for the sides of the window frame.  A stealth entrance can be greatly impaired by squeaky window frames.
Hands wet from rain and perspiration, they slid under the mesh screen and lifted.  Only the window left.  After another pause to look into your motionless being, I wrapped my right hand around the knife handle and lifted, away from my belt, with a metallic cling.
    Not very sharp.  In fact, it looked as though my companion had not been sharpened for at least a year, during which it had been utilized for the most dastardly of endeavors.  Did I forget to sharpen?  Or did I…?  I couldn’t even remember if I had forgotten to sharpen it, or if I purposefully remembered to forget, with the express purpose of having such a blunt edge.  Either way, it was quite dull, and this realization did anything but disappoint me.  I could feel pure adrenaline rushing through my veins in liquid form, as though it had replaced blood as the chief export from my heart.  I was shaking like a rabid jackal, and the cold had nothing to do with it.
    My trembling hand slipped the knife under the window.  Suddenly, a violent shudder coursed its way through my entire person, starting from my nocuous intestine and finally reaching its climax in the arch of my right foot, which it twisted and mangled like a horrible leper’s.  Even now, hours later, I can feel a dull throb in my step, reminding me of that deplorable spasm.
    After reeling backwards on the fire escape and writhing like a suffocating cat, I was able to manage myself back to the window.  Perhaps I should have sharpened the knife?  Regardless, all evidence of excitement and energy were vanished; replaced with a soldier-faced seriousness.  I was lucky.  Had this little episode happened inside the room, you most certainly would have awakened and discovered me at my weakest: helpless as a fetus en route to the abortion clinic.  And out there in the trenches, I had none of my pills to keep me out of harm’s way; a luxury I often abused in the comfort of my own home.
    Once again, the knife had to be slid beneath the window.  This time there was no howling, wailing, or any other insane cries coming from the recesses of my abdomen.  Only my Orders.  My steel was easily thin enough to fit warmly between the window and its frame, and so I let it rest there for the time being.  Then, a twist of approximately ninety degrees, and there was a finger-sized space, ready for the filling.  Slow as Job, I lifted the window, allowing for the elements to caress your sleep.
    Quarter open.  Your body must have acknowledged the change in temperature and humidity in the room, because it caused you to stir, forcing me to give pause.  Only a stir.  Half open.  Without the pane to detract from the vitality of your exposed face and shoulders, you were no longer a caged image: some hologram that would disappear if I dared try and touch it.  You were transformed into a living creature, fashioned from meat, bone, and so, so much blood.  Three quarters open.  I could then feel the heat radiating out, not from your bedroom, but from inside of you.  Straight from your underbelly.  That certain exhilaration started to creep back into my smile again, but I knew it had to be stifled, else I should suffer the unpleasant consequences once more.  Now opened in full.  The smell of your room, so nauseatingly inviting, assuaged any doubt that I was where I belonged.  I was sucked in.
    First my right leg.  I had to avoid many of those small trinkets on your windowsill, as the slightest sound could have the most catastrophic effect on my duties.  Half entered, half entering, I was momentarily stayed in the window, dripping all over the trinkets I took such care in avoiding.  Then, you woke up.
At first it was so unnatural for me to see you in a conscious state, I didn’t recognize you or the severity of my situation.  The next instant I was dived beneath your bed, eyes darting around to discern if I had chosen wisely in coming into the room as opposed to fleeing.  Your naked feet touched the floor, and my throat halved in size.  The feet awkwardly stumbled towards the window, and within a few seconds I heard the glass barrier close.  Your feet walked directly back to me, and I was still holding that beautifully blunt blade in my right hand.  One foot away.  Then they rose into the bed, and temporarily disappeared from my view.
    Funny you should have a living-mate.  Not that it is all that unusual on its own, but I just never thought of the possibility that you would share your sleep, the most vulnerable hours of your life, with another person.  I would sooner eat my own foot than trust another human being to have that much control over my life.  Just look at what we are capable of!
    You rustled about a bit, leaving me time for reflection on such things as the smell of your floor, the meaning of life, and intense abdominal discomfort.  Then, after five still minutes, I army-crawled my way out from beneath you, slower than a finless turtle stuck in the blistering sand.  The knife softly stuck my upper thigh, as I had slipped it back into my belt a few moments earlier.  There was most likely minimal bleeding, giving me new stimulation and invigoration.  I imagined my blood, mixing with my pants and spreading down my leg, and it became very difficult for me to inch my way out from your bed until I became less physically excited.  The enchantment eventually wore off, and I began my ascension into your presence.
My creaky joints did not aid me in standing upright, and it ended up taking so much effort not to crack any of them, that my muscles in my legs and lower back all cramped to a painful degree.  I slinked over to the head of your bed, inches away from your gentle face.  I slid the knife out of my belt once again, this time intentionally dragging it across the side of my crotch as I did so.  A silent shudder escaped my body just as you switched the position of your head on your pillow.  Beautiful, precious.
    I cannot fully explain what happened next, as it contains no logic or sanity; only fear.  The Fear.  It gripped me just as I was about to bend over, but it gripped me with a firm, unyielding hand.  Though all rational thought and vision should have told me otherwise, I was not the only thing awake in that room at that point in time.  There was something else there, entirely.  Not you, and not your living-partner: something watching me, and with the worst intentions.  I tried screaming for help, not caring that I would be discovered as the perpetrator I was.  I was able to start the cry for help, but as it was halfway up my windpipe, my throat closed over it, trapping it and sucking all the life out of it.  All that escaped was a slight gasp, which wasn’t enough to wake you, despite our close proximity.
    It was watching me, and it was right next to me.  Every time I turned my head it moved just out of sight, but not quickly enough to convince me it wasn’t really there; just fast enough to prevent me from seeing it full-on.  What kind of malefic urchin was this?  All I could do was crouch down next to you, my only hope for salvation from the beast, and watch.  As long as I could catch a glimpse of it, then it wouldn’t exist.  But until then, it had power over me, and would most certainly haunt my nerves until I did something about it.  So I did.
Still crouched in the blackness between your bed and wall, I picked up a shoe from beneath your bed and threw it at your roommate.  A direct hit to the leg; hard enough to force consciousness, yet soft enough so as not to give cause for alarm.  Now sitting upright, roomy looked directly at you, and directly at me.  This did not bother me as much as it should have, but the creature was gone, and I felt such a relief that no worldly harm or punishment made any difference to me at that point.  Yet I remained still, so as not to invite the monstrosity back into the realm of realization.  And, as luck would have it, your roommate was unable to see me, even though I was so close to you that I could taste the floral smell of your hair in the air before me.
    Then, your room-partner arose, and headed towards me.  I could still feel the lingering effects of the fury’s gaze upon me, but it was dwindling, and the threat of discovery now presented itself as a legitimate possibility.  Before I could even devise a plan, the sleep-ridden ragamuffin moved past our hiding place and into the bathroom.  While I still had the chance, I ducked down to the ground and rolled smoothly beneath your bed once again.  Luckily so, as your roommate’s reemergence into the room caused you to awaken.  I was very warm and very safe underneath your bed, and I was not moving for a long while.
    Your feet fell from the bed, then proceeded to walk themselves out to the bathroom as well, the toes cringing once they hit the cold floor.  As soon as your business was completed, you returned, threw yourself onto the bed, and continued your night, that had turned to fitful sleep.  And I waited.  Taking no chances.  No chances that the furious demon would come back to plague me.  No chances of being discovered by you or your companion.  I was completely still, as I had been trained to do for many months now.  I had a long conversation with many voices as I laid in waiting beneath you, and we came to a reluctant agreement.
    You had attained R.E.M. by this point, and I knew that there was little danger of interrupting your slumber.  I emerged from your bed for the second time and stood erect, next to your bed.  I slid the knife out of my belt.  I was standing next to you, bent over to feel your shallow breathing, for at least two minutes.  Then The Fear started to return.  And I knew what had to be done.
    Silent as a photograph, I opened the window, once again careful not to disturb anything lying on the windowsill, and stepped back out into the rain-soaked night.  You didn’t even stir this time.  I closed the window, closed the screen, and sat there, as I always sit there, night after night.
    No more, of course.  Now that I have informed you of my intentions, I am quite sure that you will take extra care in keeping surveillance of your fire escape and windows.  But I will find a new way.  I am writing this letter, in part, because I want you to know that, although our introduction was never achieved, it will be.  And it will be warm and red, and will live on longer than either of us.  Truthfully, another reason for my prose is to steal from you that precious sleep that you take for granted, and I long for so dearly.  Until we meet, you will share The Fear with me.  I will always be in your room, just out of sight.  Hiding in your shivers…