The Sandman

The Sandman

Timmy froze, his eyes riveted to the dingy glass pane in his bedroom. Outside, the wind whistled across the barren stretch of desert, bending cacti beneath its brutal breath. It pelted the window with sand, coating it in a thin layer of dust that made tiny pinging sounds. But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the tall figure lurking on the horizon—the one he knew shouldn't be there, the one that hadn't been there a minute ago.

His heart hammered, the steady drumroll pulsing in his throat as he crept forward and pressed his nose against the window. He grimaced, face scrunching. The dust that whipped across the desert coated everything, including his tongue. He could taste the grit, even as the dry tickle built in the back of his throat. Coughing into his fist, he squinted and peered outside. The tall figure was still out there, still on the horizon where their yard melded with the jagged rock formations in the distance. He shivered despite the dry heat that permeated their three room shanty; it made him feel like he was being baked alive as a distant chant echoed in his head.

Looking in the windows, sneaking through the doors;
The Sandman is coming, and he might find yours.
He'll fill your mouth and steal your eyes,
When the Sandman comes, everyone dies.

Timmy's eyes clamped shut. Gripping the windowsill, he tried to shake the schoolyard song. He told himself it was just a stupid story meant to scare kids, something the grown-ups made up to get them to behave. He was just being silly. Maybe his Pa wasn't lost in the mines after all. Yes, that had to be it. Pa finally found his way out and got caught in the sand storm. It was dark outside and the swirling clouds of sand just made Pa look bigger. The stinging grains had to make it hard to see. That was why he was moving so slow.

Courage renewed by this wave of hope, he cracked his eyes open and squinted into the distance. The figure had edged closer now, but all Timmy could make out was the tall silhouette and the folds of his hooded black cloak flapping in the wind. He bit his lip and trembled, and for a moment, he considered calling for his Ma. She would know what to do. But even as the wind whistled through the thin cracks surrounding the window, he dismissed the thought. If he called out whimpering about the Sandman, she wouldn't call him her brave little man anymore. She'd think he was a baby.

He backed away from the window, cinching the hand-sewn curtains tight. His bare feet padded across the rough-hewn floor planks and his bed creaked, threatening to collapse as he leapt through the air and landed on the mattress. Drawing the quilt over his head, he covered his ears and tried to drown out the mournful wail of the wind as it swept through the desert basin. His muscles ached; trembling wore him out. Lips quivering, he whispered his prayers like all good little boys should. Exhausted, it wasn't long before he was fast asleep.

~*~*~*~*~

Timmy's eyes slit open. The heavy shroud of sleep still clung to him. His thoughts were foggy; his tongue felt dry and swollen against the roof of his mouth. He smacked his lips, grunting as he rolled over, dragging the quilt with him. His bladder throbbed making sleep next to impossible. A series of scratches screeched against the window. They set his teeth on edge, the sound grating all the way down to his bones. Flopping over, he flung the covers back and froze, the memory of the tall figure slamming back into his consciousness.

There, outside the dingy window stood the Sandman. Two orange eyes peered back at him, unblinking from the other side. His heart thundered in his ears, the sound booming like lit sticks of dynamite. He was sure his Ma could hear it. In fact, he hoped she could, but he remained rooted and alone, staring at the monstrosity outside.

Its skin was rough, textured—sallow beige that rippled as if in constant motion. The nose was long and hooked, the eyes deep set and glowing like the dying embers of a fire. Timmy's head shook. Slamming his eyes shut, he counted to ten, but the figure remained. He bit back a scream when he spotted the thin layer of sand on the windowsill. Recanting the schoolyard song, Timmy sank deep under the quilt and held deathly still, refusing to draw so much as one breath.

"This isn't happening," he whispered. "It's not real. It's not real."

The wind howled outside; the sound low and mournful. Too afraid to call out, he huddled beneath the blankets, pretending to be asleep. That was the only way the Sandman would pass you by. If Timmy was lucky, he'd just get the tiny grains in the corner of his eyes. Maybe, if God was feeling especially generous, he'd forget what he'd seen. He would wake up tomorrow and everything would just feel like a bad dream.

The wind gave a shrill whistle and sand started to pelt the inside of his room. It pinged off the walls, buffeted his quilt. He whimpered for his Ma, clutching the corners of his quilt tighter. A horrible sensation crept over him, one that made his hair stand on end and told him he wasn't alone. His skin prickled and slithered with fear. Timmy peeled the blanket back, a hopeful entreaty poised on his tongue.

"Ma?"

Timmy started to scream. The Sandman stood over his bed, a lone finger extended his way. Hot grit flooded his mouth, extinguishing all sound. His throat filled with warm desert sand. In those final moments, Timmy clutched his neck, a morbid song ringing in his ears.

Looking in the windows, sneaking through the doors;
The Sandman is coming, and he might find yours.


WC ~ 997
Written for: "Horror, Inc Presents: The Daily Slice" 
Prompt:  Write a horror story under 1000 words about a window. What do you see...