Every Tenant Of Flat 3 Has Drawn The Same Man In The Same Corner

I rented Flat 3 for two years. It is a nice flat. High ceilings, bad windows, a landlord who actually fixes things, which in this city is close to a miracle.

In my ninth month I woke at about three and there was a man standing in the corner by the wardrobe.

Hat with a brim. Long coat. Absolutely still. No face that I could see, and — this is the thing I have never been able to explain to anybody who has not had it — I was not able to move, and I was also not frightened in the way you would expect. It was closer to the feeling of being in a room with a stranger at a funeral.

He was there for what I would guess was thirty seconds, and then I could move, and he was not there.

I told the landlord because a pipe was leaking and I mentioned it in passing, like an idiot, and I expected a joke.

He did not joke. He said, "Would you draw it for me?"

I said what.

He went out to his van and came back with a folder.

There were three drawings in it. One from 2004, one from 2011, one from 2016. Different hands — one is very good, one is a child's, and one is done in biro on the back of an electricity bill.

Same man. Same corner. Same hat.

I drew mine. It is the worst of the four; I cannot draw. He put it in the folder and said thank you, in a completely level voice, and then he fixed the pipe.

I asked him why he keeps them.

He said, "Because one day somebody's going to draw something different, and then I'll know it's changed."

I moved out in the spring, for work, not for the hat. The flat is let again — I looked, out of a curiosity I am not proud of — and there is a young couple in it now.

I hope they draw the same man. I genuinely, sincerely hope they draw the same man.

Because the landlord is right. The thing to be frightened of is not the man in the corner.

It is the day the drawing changes.