The Constant in the Courtyard

Every Sunday, the six of us—cousins bound by blood and habit—gathered at our grandmother’s apartment in the old Linford Estate. The building, a relic of the 1970s, had a central courtyard that caught the evening light in strange ways. My cousin Mara, two years my senior, would always drag me to the railing of the third-floor landing, pointing across the inner courtyard to the opposite wing, Block B. ‘There,’ she’d say, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘It stands there, watching us back.’

I never saw it. I told her she was imagining things, that the way the shadow of the water tower fell across the courtyard made patterns that seemed alive. But Mara persisted. She described the figure as tall and impossibly thin, with arms that hung past its knees, and a head that seemed to sway like a metronome. She said it never moved, just stood there, as if glued to the corner of the rooftop of Block B, its eyes fixed on our window. I laughed it off, called her a drama queen, and changed the subject to her latest crush.

That was fifteen years ago. I had all but forgotten Mara’s tales until a letter arrived from the estate office. Our grandmother had passed, and they were clearing out her belongings. Since I lived closest, I was asked to come and collect anything of sentimental value. The building itself was slated for demolition, so I had to be quick. I arrived on a grey Tuesday, the courtyard eerily silent. The only sound was the crunch of gravel under my boots and the distant hum of traffic.

As I climbed the stairs to my grandmother’s flat, I felt a chill crawl up my spine despite the warmth of the day. The place was dusty, with sheets covering the furniture. I moved through the rooms, picking up old photographs and a few trinkets, when I found myself at the hallway window that faced the courtyard. The opposite block, Block B, was now empty, its windows dark. I lingered by the window, and then I saw it—a figure, tall and impossibly thin, standing on the rooftop of Block B. It was exactly as Mara had described, with arms that hung past its knees and a head that swayed slightly. I blinked, and it was gone.

I tried to shake it off. I told myself it was a trick of the light, maybe a shadow from the old water tower. But a nagging dread settled in my stomach. I remembered Mara’s last visit to our grandmother, just before she died. She had looked pale and kept muttering, ‘It followed me here.’ We all thought she was losing her mind, but now I wasn’t so sure. I decided to go to Block B and investigate, to prove to myself that it was all in my head.

Crossing the courtyard felt like walking into a cold spot in a lake. The air grew still, and I could hear my own heartbeat. The front door to Block B was unlocked, and the hallway was dim, with peeling paint. The building was a mirror to my grandmother’s, but it had a different energy. The silence was heavier. I made my way up the stairs to the rooftop, my footsteps echoing in the emptiness. When I reached the top, I found the door to the roof slightly ajar, as if someone had just left.

I pushed it open and stepped out into the grey light. The rooftop was not empty. There, in the corner closest to my grandmother’s flat, stood a small, rusted chair. And beside it, a notebook, water-damaged and covered in dust. I picked it up and opened it. The pages were filled with handwriting, a date and a time for each entry. It was a log of sorts, a record of every Sunday we had gathered in my grandmother’s flat for the past fifteen years. The entries described what we ate, what we laughed at, what we argued about. And at the bottom of each page, there was a small drawing: a stick figure with a circle for a head and two short lines for legs, standing in the corner, with a single word: ‘Watching.’

My blood ran cold. The last entry was dated the day my grandmother died. It read: ‘They are leaving. The eldest one is alone. I can see her from here. She never saw me, but I saw her. She is the one who will return.’ A child’s handwriting, but the words were precise. I looked across the courtyard and saw my grandmother’s flat, the window where I had just been standing. The curtain moved, but there was no one there.

I stumbled back, dropping the notebook. As I ran down the stairs, I could hear a faint scraping sound above me, as if something was being dragged across the roof. I didn’t look back. I ran out of the building and into the courtyard, finally stopping at the main gate. I bent over, catching my breath, and when I looked up, I saw the figure again, now on the rooftop of Block B, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. It raised one long arm and pointed directly at me. Then it was gone.

I returned to my grandmother’s flat, desperate to understand. I went through her bedroom, finding a locked box in her closet. Inside were photographs of us as children, and one photograph of my grandmother standing with a young girl I didn’t recognize. On the back of the photo was written: ‘My companion, 1967.’ The girl had the same elongated features as the figure I had just seen. I felt a sudden, horrible realization: this thing had been here for decades. It had been with my grandmother, and perhaps it had chosen a new person to watch.

As I drove away from Linford Estate, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I kept looking in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see that tall, thin figure standing on the road behind me. When I got home, I locked all the doors and windows, but the dread followed me inside. That night, I woke to the sound of scraping on my window, like fingernails against glass. I pulled back the curtain, but there was nothing there. Just the reflection of my own face, but for a moment, I thought I saw a second reflection behind me, swaying gently.

I haven’t returned to the estate. They demolished the buildings last month, and they parked an excavator on the corner of the courtyard. But sometimes, when I drive by the empty lot, I see a shadow in the corner of my eye, tall and thin, standing among the rubble. And I know it’s still watching. It has always been watching. And it will never let me forget that I was the one who came back.