Hometown

I’ve always had a thing about looking out dark windows. You know how it is – you peer into the blackness, half expecting to see something staring back. For years, nothing. Just my reflection looking tired and questioning my life choices. But one night, I finally got my wish.

I was mindlessly scrolling on my phone when I had that feeling. You know, the one where it feels like someone’s watching you. So naturally, I did what every horror movie character does and looked directly at the window. And there it was: a small face with two disturbingly bright eyes, pressed up against the glass like a creepy doll on a mission.

I froze, obviously. Heart racing. Did I move? Nope. Did I scream? Not at first. I just stared back, trying to figure out if I was hallucinating from too much caffeine or if my house had suddenly become the set of a paranormal TV show.

It blinked. It blinked! That was it. My horror movie instincts kicked in. I grabbed the nearest object, which, unfortunately, happened to be a half-eaten bag of chips. I mean, what was I going to do? Crinkle it to death?

But then the face… smiled? It was kind of hard to tell because it was tiny. Like, really tiny. Not child-sized. Definitely not monster-sized either. More like… Thumbelina-sized.

“Uh, can I help you?” I asked, as if casually talking to something peering through your window at 11 p.m. is normal.

The little face scrunched up, and I heard a soft squeaky voice go, “Yeah, hi. Sorry to freak you out. I’m Marty.”

“Marty?” I repeated, still clutching my defensive bag of chips like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

“Yeah, Marty. I’m kind of stuck. You got a sec to help me out?” And with that, the creature crawled up the window like a tiny, winged squirrel-person and perched on the windowsill. Now that it was closer, I realized it wasn’t a doll or a ghost. Marty was a little bat-like creature – but with more personality than anything that should be flying around at night.

Turns out, Marty is a pipsqueak. Yeah, I’d never heard of them either, but apparently, they’re a species of nocturnal pranksters who live in trees and pop into human windows for snacks and random conversations. Why? Because they’re bored and slightly nosy, apparently. Classic.

“So… you just hang around spying on people?” I asked, now more curious than terrified. I mean, Marty was barely the size of a Coke can. Not exactly The Exorcist material.

“Nah, spying’s rude. I was just looking to see if you had any snacks,” Marty replied, sniffing the air. “Chips? Nice. Mind if I—”

Before I could stop myself, I handed over the bag. Honestly, I was too intrigued to do anything else. Watching a mini bat-squirrel-person dive into a bag of Doritos was kind of hilarious.

We sat there for a while, me on the couch, Marty munching away on my snack, explaining how he got separated from his “pipsqueak pack” during a prank gone wrong. Apparently, they tried to scare a cat, and the cat wasn’t having it. Things escalated, Marty flew off in the wrong direction, and now here he was, crashing my night like a miniature raccoon with wings.

“So, you’re not going to, like, haunt my house or something?” I asked, glancing nervously at the dark window. Because once you see something staring at you through the glass, you never really look at windows the same way again.

“Nah, man. I’m not a ghost. Just a hungry pipsqueak with a bad sense of direction.” He flapped his wings lazily. “Besides, haunting’s too much work. Ever tried rattling chains all night? Exhausting.”

By the time Marty finished the chips, I’d completely gone from terrified to amused. It wasn’t every day you ended up with a tiny supernatural visitor who just wanted to snack and chat about life. He offered to prank my neighbor for fun before flying off, but I figured Marty had enough on his plate for one night.

As he fluttered away, I couldn’t help but laugh. Of all the things I’d imagined outside my window, a chip-loving, bat-sized trickster named Marty was not on the list.

So now, every time I look out that dark window, I wonder if I’ll see him again. Maybe next time, I’ll have some pretzels ready. Just in case.