The Ghost of Windows Tapped

Once upon a Manchester dreary, while I blogged all cheek  and sneery,
Churning out my faint and furious volume of dating gore,
While I plotted, clearly laughing, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some looser gently rapping, rapping at my windows four.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `hoping for my chamber door -
These late night callers are such a chore.’

* * *

 

I love windows. And my flat has the best collection of windows in the world. The problem with windows is that they work both ways. Alas, it’s quite common for the creatures of the night to take advantage of my ground floor position:

1. Broken glass, garbage, hair extensions, acrylic nails, shoes, underpants, condoms, etc.

2. One dead fox that deflated slowly until the council finally removed it

3. The gardener and window washer – who only appear to be at work when I’m naked and misplace my towel

4. A variety of strange men who I refer to as The Window Tappers.

* * *

Ah, distinctly I remember it was roughly last October,
And each separate dying date crashed and burned upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for Pinot; – sanity I had sought to borrow
In the glass, I drowned my sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden who ripped me off to start a fabric softener company, (*hiccup) what a whore.

* * *

My first experience with The Window Tappers was about a year ago. There’s a creepy man with stringy hair who likes to go around from time to time and poke at all my windows with a stick. He claims that he can hear the music from his flat but he doesn’t live in my building nor or on my street. None of my neighbours have seen him …

(*Whispers) I see Window Tappers.

One time, some sketched out guy found himself bored on my lawn, in need of some entertainment. I had just watched Paranormal Activity, so I was already pretty freaked out even before the shadow of a hand began to slowly and methodically tap at the window. In a moment of madness, I jumped on the back of the couch and flung the curtains open, doing my best Karate Kid impression. Wax on, fuck off.

And, from time to time, an ex of mine likes to pay me a visit, standing on the lawn, looking in, smiling and waving. He seems to regard windows as a default system for when I don’t answer the door, phone or texts. Why take the stairs when you don’t have to leave the comfort of the lawn? Especially with all those rocks to crawl back under.

I’m still mulling over the possible solutions to Window Tappers and I think that maybe I should just hang a note or a sign in the window … LOL!

 

* * *

Presently my soul grew stronger; patience staying not much longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, are you truly such a loser-sore?;
But the fact is I’m not laughing, so annoyingly you came rapping,
Foolishly you thought that tapping, tapping at my windows four,
Would assure I’d believe your lore’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Raised two middle-fingers, then nothing more.

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