Peeping Tom
By: William Petersen
Copyright 2014 William Petersen
*****
“This story originally appeared in the anthology Ghosts: Revenge published by JWK Fiction and was later featured in Vol. 03 No. 09 of Under the Bed Magazine. This story is particularly special to me as it is the first true 'ghost' story I've written. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.” - W.P.
*****
“Mmm... 3-A is looking good today,” Thomas told his television, intently watching as the attractive woman disrobed and stepped into the shower. Once she was behind the curtain he typed a few lines of code into his laptop, and the view changed to one inside the shower compartment. He removed the computer from his lap to reveal yellow-stained briefs and pale, hairy legs. His eyes caressed the television screen as he reveled in the sight of her pale hair, wet and tracing the contour of her back, draping down to just above the gentle curve of her hips.
A twinge of guilt pecked at his subconscious, which would intensify after, but he was powerless to stop himself. Porn had lost its appeal; the women were just actors playing a role. He needed something more realistic and in his distorted view, something more attainable. The girl next door, so to speak, but in this case it was the girl upstairs and down the hall. As the young woman began to soap up, the tip of his tongue ran back and forth over his top lip, and his left hand slowly descended toward his crotch.
The phone rang and scared him so badly that he lurched forward, launching his thick, black rimmed glasses right off of his face. He stared into the fuzziness trying to locate the landing site of his spectacles when the phone rang again. He reached down and retrieved the device, holding it close to his face while squinting to read the display. It was the landlord. Thomas thought about ignoring it, but knew that the old man would just keep calling and eventually show up at his door if he didn't answer.
“Hello?” he greeted the building owner as he depressed the button on the computer to pause his little peep show.
“Tom, the cameras on the third floor hallway are out again,” the raspy voice emanating from the phone told him. Thomas knew that the old man had a thing for voyeurism as well, but the old man's obsession was slightly different than his own; he only wanted to be the eye in the sky, the king of the castle watching over his subjects with an unblinking gaze. 'Everyone has needs' was Thomas' philosophy and justification. The old man's need was control, and Thomas served his own perversions by catering to those of the cantankerous senior.
“I'll go check it out right now,” Thomas offered.
“Well, hurry up before one of the low-lifes in that building takes a shit on the floor or spray-paints their name on the wall.”
“I'm opening the door as we speak,” Thomas lied, hoping to speed up conversation, “I'll call you back as soon as it's working.”
“Don't bother, I'll be watching and waiting,” the crabby voice announced and was followed the by the sudden silence of a severed connection. Thomas knew that the old man was telling the truth. He had made a deal with Thomas to install and maintain a building-wide video system and route the feeds back to the old man's house in lieu of rent money. The relic spent the vast majority his days and nights cycling through the various displays, looking for any tenants or visitors up to no good.
Everyone has needs... Thomas thought, as he squinted at the frozen image on his television screen. But there was nothing wrong with the cameras on three, and Thomas knew it; the building was mostly full of college kids in their twenties, and they didn't like to be watched. That's why I keep mine hidden... echoed in the back of his mind as a sly grin spread across his face.
Thomas carelessly dressed and ran a hand through his ear-length black hair, now shimmering with more than a week's worth of oil, then made his way to the third floor. He navigated using the stairwells and quietly peered out of the door to ensure the hallway was empty before emerging. He quickly removed the foam cups from the cameras at each end of the hall, then stealthily rushed back to his apartment to revel in one of his favorite episodes of the day: 3-A preparing for work.
Thomas had watched her long enough to learn her patterns and routine; he felt as if he had gotten to know her over time and that they now shared a special connection, one much more profound than his previous distractions. He had become so enamored with her, he barely looked in on the rest of the women of the building. He smiled openly at the mental image of her and eagerly slipped back into his apartment. Once inside, he diligently secured both locks on the door and was removing his pants as he maneuvered through the trash and dishes littering the floor, making his way to the couch.
Brushing the previous evening's pizza box from the far cushion, Thomas hurried to get the images back on the screen. The clicking of his fingers on the keyboard of the laptop was followed by the television screen coming back to life. More typing produced a cycle of images from within 3-A's dwelling. He hastily input a new series of commands, and the black and white rendition of the third floor hallway appeared on his television screen.
He caught 3-A stepping into the elevator wearing a black skirt and white tank-top, her shining hair flowing down and around around her delicate shoulders. The hint of a grin animated her face, and the reflected fluorescent light glinting against her dark eyes mesmerized Thomas. He quickly traced his eyes up and down her form.
The attire she wore during the day was conservative and modern, but her transformation into more racy and revealing nightwear hinted at a bar or nightclub job. After watching her constantly, he could even tell if she was going to work or if she was going to play just by what she chose to wear and how she prepared and groomed herself prior to leaving. He was happy to see that she was going out for some fun; probably a night out with the girls, he thought.
He was even more pleased that in all the time he had been observing her, she had never once brought anyone back to her place, reinforcing his delusion of their bond. The elevator door closed and Thomas sighed, then looked back down to his computer. After a few quick keyboard strokes, the television began to display the contents of various rooms from around the building.
Thomas set the computer aside, scratched around in his furry navel until he had prized an impressive lint ball from the orifice, then rose to his feet while simultaneously flicking the tangle of fuzz across the room. He navigated to the refrigerator and fished out the gallon bottle of cheap bourbon and an expired bottle of lime juice, then returned to his nest on the couch. Knowing his own routines as well as those of 3-A, he activated his television's sleep function, then set to taking shots and watching the slide show. He stretched out with legs splayed apart, watching the mundane lives of others play out in high-definition.
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