The Eyes Above the Fence: The Strangest Night with the Violinist

About two years ago, I moved into a new house in a modern residential area in Australia. I was one of the first people to finish building their homes there, and all that occupied my mind at the time was that I would finally live alone in a house I fully owned.

In the first few weeks, everything was normal and quiet.

The area was still almost empty, and houses were very few. Most of the roads had been paved, and the surrounding plots of land were marked to define ownership, but they remained vacant, waiting for someone to begin construction.

There was only one house near me, located on the opposite side. The house was almost complete, but it didn't even have a driveway yet, so I was certain that no one had moved in.

To the left of my house, a few hundred meters away, there were open lands and an agricultural field, in the middle of which stood an old, dilapidated farmhouse, standing alone in the landscape.

That house piqued my curiosity from the very first day.

I would go out in the afternoon with my dog, wandering through the area and the surrounding lands. Many times, I would approach that old house to catch a glimpse of it from afar. There was no specific reason for it, but the presence of an abandoned, isolated house in the middle of those open spaces made me feel there was a story behind it.

About a month or two passed without anything unusual happening.

Then came that morning.

I woke up to the sound of a violin.

At first, I didn't feel afraid. On the contrary, I stayed lying down for a while listening to the music; the playing was clear and quite beautiful.

I immediately assumed that the owners of the house across the street had finally moved in, and that one of them was playing the violin.

I felt happy.

Finally, I would have nearby neighbors I could talk to.

I got out of bed, pulled the curtain, and looked out the window toward the house across the street.

It was dark.

Completely empty.

There was no car in front of it, no lights, and no sign that anyone was living there.

I tried not to think too much about it.

I went to wash my face and get dressed, and within minutes, the sound of the violin stopped completely.

The incident repeated itself after that.

On some mornings, I would wake up to the sound of playing coming from somewhere outside. It usually started in the very early hours of the morning, before sunrise, and then stopped after a short while.

I ignored it at first.

But my curiosity eventually got the better of me.

One morning, as soon as the playing woke me, I jumped out of bed and went straight to the door.

I opened it and went out.

The light was still dim, and the sky was in that grey stage that precedes sunrise.

I stood in front of the house trying to determine the source of the sound.

I looked right and left.

Then I raised my eyes toward the hill located to the left of my house.

And there, I saw him.

It was a person standing at the top of the hill, playing the violin.

I couldn't see his face clearly because of the distance and the darkness, but I could distinguish his body.

He was remarkably tall.

And what was stranger was that he wasn't standing still while playing.

He was moving.

Dancing and spinning around himself while he played.

I stood staring at him for seconds, unsure of what I was seeing.

Then I looked away for just a brief moment to pick up the morning newspaper from in front of the house.

Perhaps ten seconds hadn't even passed.

Suddenly, the violin stopped.

I quickly raised my head toward the hill.

The man was still there.

But he was no longer playing.

And he was no longer dancing.

He was standing motionless.

Looking in my direction.

I don't know if I can say he was looking directly into my eyes because of the distance, but I felt it clearly.

We stood like that, each of us watching the other.

Seconds passed that seemed much longer than they actually were.

Then fear began to creep into me.

I backed away slowly, entered the house, and locked the door.

Since that morning, things began to change.

While out with my dog, I noticed footprints near my house, within the boundaries of my property.

They weren't my tracks.

And I hadn't seen them before.

I tried to convince myself that a worker or a passerby might have entered the land by mistake.

But the next day, something else happened.

I didn't wake up to the sound of the violin.

Instead, I clearly heard the footsteps of someone walking alongside the house window.

I was absolutely certain of what I heard.

Slow steps of someone moving outside.

I tried to look, but I saw no one.

Then the strange calls began.

While at work, I would receive calls from numbers I didn't recognize.

Whenever I answered and put the phone to my ear, the call would disconnect immediately.

Time after time.

During that period, I completely stopped wandering near the fields and the old farmhouse.

I no longer wanted to see that man again.

I was trying to return to my normal life, until a night came that made things much worse.

I was at home, I turned off the TV in the living room, then went to my room to get ready for bed.

Suddenly, I heard the violin.

The sound this time was very low.

Quiet.

But clear.

I froze in my place.

The thing that terrified me wasn't just hearing the music.

It was the time.

It was nearly midnight.

The violinist had never appeared before except in the early morning hours.

I cautiously approached the front window and looked outside.

That's when I noticed a light inside the house across the street.

For the first time, there was a light in that house.

But it wasn't the light of an electric lamp.

It was dim and flickering, as if coming from a candle.

I kept watching the house.

After a few moments, I realized something else.

The music wasn't coming from someone playing live this time.

It sounded as if it were recorded and coming from a device inside the house.

I stood for about ten minutes watching the windows.

I didn't see a person moving.

I didn't see a shadow.

Nothing.

I moved away from the window feeling a heavy sense of dread, and tried to ignore it.

But the most terrifying night didn't come until after that.

I was playing on the computer in the office room wearing headphones.

The house was completely quiet, and I could hear nothing but the sound of the game in my ears.

After a while, I felt hungry, so I got up and went to the kitchen to get something from the fridge.

I opened it, took what I wanted, then turned to go back.

That's when I noticed something strange at the office room window.

There was a faint light outside it.

I didn't understand its source.

I approached the window.

Step after step.

Until I was very close to it.

And then I understood.

What I was seeing wasn't a light.

They were eyes.

Eyes above the fence.

Someone was standing outside, looking at me from over it.

The eyes didn't blink.

They didn't move.

They were fixed on me.

For moments, my mind couldn't process what I was seeing.

I kept staring at them as if trying to convince myself they weren't real.

Then my body collapsed before my mind could grasp the situation.

I fell to the floor and hid below the level of the window.

My heart was beating so violently that I could hear it clearly.

I stayed crouched on the floor trying to understand what was happening.

And at that moment, the violin started.

Again.

But this time the sound was very close.

It was coming from directly outside my window.

The playing didn't resemble the melodies I had heard previously.

It was strange.

Disturbed.

As if the person outside wasn't playing music so much as trying to produce annoying and frightening sounds from the instrument.

The lights in the house were off, but the computer screen was still glowing.

I wanted to get up to turn it off so he couldn't see me.

But my body wouldn't respond.

Then my dog, who was in the backyard, started barking.

A strong, continuous barking.

Suddenly, the violin stopped.

Silence fell.

I remained on the floor motionless.

Then I heard my dog bark again.

After that, I heard something that made me stand up despite my fear.

Footsteps.

The person outside the house was moving toward the backyard.

Toward my dog.

In that moment, I didn't think of myself.

I only thought of my dog.

I got up and ran toward the back door.

When I arrived, I saw my dog standing in the garden.

He was fixed in his place, looking into the darkness.

I opened the door slowly.

Usually, as soon as I open the door for him, he runs inside immediately.

But this time he didn't move.

He stayed standing.

His body was tense, and his eyes were fixed on a point outside my field of vision.

There was something inside me screaming at me not to go out.

But I couldn't leave him alone.

I went out cautiously, stood behind him, then grabbed his collar and tried to pull him toward the door.

My dog is a Labrador, and he was heavy and strong.

And what was stranger was that he completely refused to move.

He braced himself against the ground as if he didn't want to retreat.

I tried to pull him harder.

Suddenly, he let out a bark I had never heard from him in my life.

It wasn't a bark of fear.

It was an aggressive and violent bark, as if he were warning something in the darkness not to approach.

I stopped.

And I stayed by his side.

I don't know how much time passed.

Maybe seconds.

Maybe minutes.

Then we heard footsteps behind the fence.

Someone walking away.

The sound gradually receded until it disappeared.

Only then did my dog change.

His body suddenly relaxed.

He raised his head and looked at me.

Then he turned and entered the house on his own.

I entered behind him immediately and locked the door.

I took him with me to the bedroom, and he climbed onto the bed beside me.

I covered myself and stayed awake until morning.

I didn't close my eyes for a single moment.

The strange thing is that was the last time I saw the violinist.

The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, I called my manager and told him I was sick and wouldn't be going to work.

Then I called the police.

Officers came and searched the area around the house.

They found clear footprints in the dirt.

But they didn't find the person.

Nor any evidence that could lead to him.

When they asked me to describe him, I couldn't give them much.

All I was sure of was that he was very tall.

I told them he was able to look at me from over the fence.

One of the officers said he might have been standing on a box or something elevated.

They also told me they hadn't received any previous reports about someone playing the violin in the area, and no one had seen a man dancing or playing on the hill.

At that moment, I began to feel as if I had lost my mind.

But one of the officers was very understanding.

He offered to have police patrols pass near my house during the following nights.

Their presence in the area made me feel safer.

And days passed.

Nothing else happened.

Over a year or two, the area changed completely.

Houses were built one after another, and many families moved in around me.

The empty lands turned into a real neighborhood.

Over time, I told some neighbors what had happened to me in those first years.

The story spread among them.

Some of them even started using the tale of the violinist to scare their children.

One neighbor even gave the piece of land where that rise is located a name that remains in use among us:

“Violin Hill.”

I still live in the same house today.

I live my life normally, go out with my dog, and practice my daily routine as I always did.

I never saw that man again.

And I never heard the sound of a violin coming from the hill after that night.

But to this day, I don't know who he was.

Nor why he used to come there.

Nor how he knew where I lived.

And the question that still haunts me whenever I remember those eyes above the fence is:

What would have happened if my dog hadn't started barking that night?

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• Saradeeeb Team
• Rural Passerby

Writer: Saradeeeb Team

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Saradeeb Team

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