It's a quarter past one in the morning and you can hear the furnace murmuring downstairs. You've finished the movie and you're tired and need to get ready for bed. You head for the kitchen.
You can only see your reflection in the windows as you pass by them, it’s much too dark and you have most of the lights on inside.
The window by the kitchen sink is warped by age and your reflection is twisted and malformed; it's the only window in the house to create the funhouse effect, but it's always disturbed you. You jump as you always do when you see your reflection, your mind registering that the thing in the window is you a second afterwards. You sigh, reassuring yourself that it is not a monster cast in a pale light from the fluorescents.
You wash the dishes from dinner; the glass with the thin fog of milk crusted on the bottom and the sauce crusted plate. You put the ribs of a pig (age five at time of death) in the trash when you are done. You stare into your warped reflection before turning.
You brush your teeth and take a final look outside the living room window. Except you can only see the dancing shape in the glass before you, cast in a harsh yellow light from the living room lamp.
By the time you’ve realized the living room window isn't warped, it's too late to do anything.
