It was another night, above him the creaking dead trees. Each of his boots left the dirt, getting closer to that window. He saw the again. The mystery person

For weeks, Jack kept in the bushes, watching. They hardly left that room. After the last night, he wanted to risk getting closer. As jack reached the glass, his grey finger tapped the glass. He went to open the window, but saw inside the wood was nailed shut. His black eyes glancing up through the wet blue mask. 'how odd' he thought

As the wind bellowed around him, Jack sighed. His form shifting to the glass "Fuck it" and once again.. His fingers tapped the glass a little louder