What the Voyeur Saw

I got a late start on my walk that night. Usually it is a balancing act: setting out late enough to avoid the day’s heat, and not so late to be stuck outside after dark. My neighborhood isn’t a bad one, but all the same, even in middle age I have a lingering fear of the dark. I know it sounds silly, but I’m the one horror movies successfully scare. Other people laugh at the special effects or pick apart the plot twists, but me, I’m scared shitless as soon as the scary premonition music starts. Needless to say, my imagination isn’t my friend when I’m walking at night.

So I was a little late, and the shadows were creeping across the street. Windows were lit up, and I could see in some of the houses as I picked up my pace. I take the same route nearly every day, and have looked at these houses so many times that I hardly see them anymore. I can navigate the sidewalk without really looking at anything, and usually stay inside my head, not so observant of my surroundings.

But the darkening skies made me a little more alert. I was nearing the small green house right before the corner and could hear a commotion. Neighbors talked about this house, that there were problems with domestic violence. One of the neighbors had called the police once, but nothing came of it, or at least I never heard of anything.

Someone was yelling. I tried to be polite and not look in, but I’m afraid I’m a little nosey, and I slowed my steps and glanced up at the lit picture window. A medium height man, with plain brown hair, glasses and a blue button-down collar shirt stood very close to a woman, whose back was to me. She had blond hair, pulled back in a ponytail. For someone so otherwise nondescript, he was doing a good job at menacing her. His face in a sneer, he talked so loudly and quickly that I imagined spit spraying on her face. Her head was bowed. He paused for a moment, then took her by the shoulder and shoved her, hard, against the credenza standing in front of the window. I heard glass break. She faltered, and turned half towards the window, shielding her face. He grabbed her hand, jerked it back, and pinned her against the credenza, putting his face again right into hers. He shouted.

At this point I’d slowed to a stop, and wondered if I should call the police. Watching him attack her gave me a queasy feeling; I felt a few prickles of sweat in the middle of my back that had nothing to do with the humid night. Suddenly it was quiet, and then she murmured something. With that, he backhanded her, slapping her face so hard her head swung around to face out, toward me, her hair flying out of her ponytail. Her eyes met mine.

I was transfixed to the sidewalk. I knew I should walk away at the very least, and the decent thing would be to call the police. He did not notice me, and had turned towards the center of the room. Spinning back around, he threw a book directly at her head. Almost in slow motion, I watched the book bounce, her head shuddering from impact. She turned, looked back at me again, this time on purpose.

Then it got weird. Her eyes still on me, her face changed. It spread and lengthened, her body gained bulk and heft. Her hands changed into claws, and her entire body grew grey fur. It happened so quickly I had a hard time comprehending what I saw. She became a huge rat, standing on hind feet. She still stared at me, but her eyes were round and pink, no longer human. A long naked rat tail flickered behind her head.

She turned towards the man, who stepped back, finally silenced. She fell onto four paws, and moved close to him. Now her back was to me, his face obscured by her massive body. She struck, going for his throat. I saw his glasses fly off to one side, and heard a gargled cry. I think I cried out myself. Shaken, I looked wildly around to see if anyone else had observed this, anyone I could call. The windows on both sides of the street stared at me, blinds drawn, dark in the twilight.