Hi there. I've been going back and forth on whether to share this, but here goes. This was in 2015. Late October. I'd just moved into a little rental house outside of Fort Collins. Nothing fancy, just a two-bedroom place on a quiet street. I was coming off a rough year, if that makes sense. Needed somewhere I could just exist for a while without anyone asking me how I was doing. The neighborhood was older. Lots of retirees, people who'd been there forever. I kept to myself those first weeks. Didn't introduce myself to anyone, didn't wave from the driveway. Just went to work, came home, went to bed. The house directly across the street was vacant. You could tell. No car ever in the driveway. Mail piling up in the box. Never saw a single light on in that place, not once the whole time I lived there. I figured whoever owned it had passed or moved into assisted living. That happens a lot in those neighborhoods. It was about my third morning in the house when I first saw him.
I was in my kitchen making coffee. It was early, six forty-seven in the morning. I remember the time exactly because I'd just glanced at the microwave clock and thought about how I should really start sleeping later. I looked out the window above the sink, and there he was. Second floor window of that vacant house. An elderly man. White hair, kind of wispy. He was wearing a plaid bathrobe, the old fashioned kind with the quilted collar. And he was smiling at me. Not just looking, smiling. This big, warm, grandfather smile. And he was waving. Slow, deliberate, like he was greeting an old friend. I froze. Just stood there with my coffee mug halfway to my mouth. I didn't wave back. I don't know why. Something about it caught me off guard. The next morning, same thing. Six forty-seven. Same window. Same smile. Same wave. He was backlit by this warm glow from inside the house, so I could see his silhouette perfectly. I didn't wave that time either. I just watched him until I had to leave for work. This went on for three weeks. Every single morning. Six forty-seven exactly. I started to look forward to it. There was something comforting about it. This little ritual. This kind old man who seemed so happy just to see me.
It was a Thursday when I finally waved back. I'd been thinking about it all week. Felt silly that I hadn't done it sooner. He'd been so friendly, so consistent. The least I could do was acknowledge him. So that morning, six forty-seven, there he was. Same window. Same smile. Same wave. I set down my coffee, and I raised my hand, and I waved back. The smile dropped off his face like someone had switched off a light. I mean instantly. One second he's beaming at me, the next his face is just... blank. Completely blank. No expression at all. His hand stopped moving. His arm just hung there in the air. We stared at each other for maybe five seconds. Felt like an hour. And then he was gone. Not like he walked away. He was just gone. The window was empty. That warm light behind him, gone too. Just a dark window in a dark house. I didn't sleep well that night. Kept looking out my bedroom window at that house. Nothing. No movement. No lights. Nothing. The next morning I was at that kitchen window at six thirty, waiting. Six forty-seven came and went. Nothing. He never appeared again.
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