The Empty Daycare Window

It was a Tuesday in late autumn, and the air had that sharp, metallic bite that made you feel like something was about to happen. My best friend, Jenna, and I had ditched fourth period with two twins we barely knew, Cara and Mara, and this quiet kid named Eli. We were seniors, and the world was our ashtray. Our usual place was the old abandoned pet supply warehouse on the edge of town, but that day, Cara had a better idea: the shuttered ‘Little Sprouts Daycare’ on Maple Street. It had been closed for years, its windows covered in grime, and the parking lot was always empty. Perfect for a smoke.

We hopped the low chain-link fence and settled on the cracked asphalt behind the building. My back was to the tinted windows, which were so dark they looked like slabs of obsidian. Jenna and Cara were laughing about some teacher’s toupee, and Mara was rolling a joint with careful precision. Eli sat apart, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick, his face blank. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl into the gray sky.

Then Cara stopped mid-laugh. Her face went slack, and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘There’s faces in the window.’ She pointed behind me, and I turned, heart already thumping. The windows were still black, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw them: pale, round shapes pressed against the glass from the inside. They didn’t move. They just stared. For a second, I thought it was a prank, maybe other kids hiding in there. But the building was locked tight, and the windows were sealed shut with age.

‘Mara, you seeing this?’ I asked, not taking my eyes off the window. There were at least five faces now, skin milky white, mouths slightly open. They were all children, I realized, with wide, dark eyes that seemed to suck in the light. Eli stood up slowly, his stick forgotten. ‘We should go,’ he said, his voice flat. But I couldn’t move. One of the faces tilted its head, like a curious dog, and then it smiled. The smile was too wide, stretching past where lips should end, and I saw that its teeth were tiny, sharp needles.

Then the knocking started. Rhythmic, like a heartbeat, coming from inside the window. Thump. Thump. Thump. The faces began to press harder, their noses flattening against the glass, their hands appearing and slapping the pane. The window bowed outward slightly, as if made of rubber. Jenna grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. ‘Run,’ she hissed. But my legs were frozen. The faces started to mouth something, their lips moving in silent unison. I couldn’t hear them, but I could read it: ‘Let us out.’

Eli took a step back, then another. ‘They’ve been waiting,’ he said, and his voice cracked. ‘This place used to be a daycare. There was a fire, a bad one. They were all inside.’ I remembered the news story then, from years ago, about a fire at a ‘Little Sprouts’ that killed five kids. The place was condemned, but no one ever talked about it. We were so stupid, we thought it was just abandoned.

The knocking grew louder, more insistent, and the window began to crack. Tiny spiderweb lines spread from the center where the faces were pushing. I finally found my legs. ‘Go!’ I screamed, and we bolted for the fence, Cara and Mara crying, Eli right behind me. As I scrambled over the chain-link, I looked back. The window had shattered outward, glass glinting in the dim light, but the faces were gone. The building was silent again.

We didn’t stop running until we were blocks away, panting in a mini-mart parking lot. We never spoke of it, not even to each other. But whenever I pass that building now, I see the window boarded up with fresh plywood, and I hear the knocking, faint but rhythmic. And I know they’re still waiting, pressing against the wood, their needle-teeth smiles widening, because we saw them. We know their secret. And they will never let us forget.