It started just after I was potty trained. My parents got a kick out of watching me stumble into the living room, then the kitchen, then a closet, until I finally found my way to the bathroom. That’s usually what my sleepwalking is. Just trying to find a bathroom so I could pee. As I got older, I thought I’d stopped until my roommate showed me a video of myself walking into the living room, declaring that I was going to wal-mart, and then curling up on the sofa. She and I both laughed pretty hard at that. After that I just considered it an weird personal quirk. I went on to graduate college and get a job as a pharmacy technician, got married, and had my son, Tyler. My wife saw me sleep walk a few times, and she was a little creeped out by it. Rather than laughing, she’d gently lead me back to bed.
It never affected my life. We were a little family of three, and the happiest in the world, it seemed. My son was the light of my life. I was ‘momma’ and my wife was ‘mommy’ and he was most definitely a momma’s boy. He’d run out to the car every day after school to show me his report cards and drawings. At age 6, he was already a pretty talented artist, and his favorite thing to draw was zebras. It came as no surprise, then, that when Halloween rolled around, he wanted to be a zebra. My wife bought his costume and apologized again and again for having to work, but as a nurse, I knew she really didn’t have a choice. I promised to take plenty of pictures. I was going as a fortune teller, and I carried a large paperweight for my ‘crystal ball’. We had a wonderful time. Plenty of kids ran up to me and asked for their fortunes, and I usually told them I predicted they’d get lots of candy. My son got enough candy to feed his entire classroom, though of course he wouldn’t even let me have one piece. Jerk. We got home and I got him up to bed, poured a glass of wine, put on some netflix and totally stole some of my son’s candy. I woke up to my wife laying a blanket over me and tip-toeing in the direction of our bedroom.
“I’m awake,” I said. She turned and smiled at me and melted my heart. I held the edge of the blanket up and she snuggled in beside me.
My daughter, Grace, is 5 years old. She’s incredibly smart to the point she’s reading, writing and communicating well above her age. She has always been like this. She was my first child and I was no longer with her father by the time she turned 1. We had been on an off since I found out I was expecting, we had broken up at 7 months pregnant and got back together when she was 5 months old. Grace and I lived with her Grandpa, my father, in my Nan’s old house. She had passed away a few years previous, and we always joked that she was still wandering around house, it was almost like a daily routine that at 9am and 4 pm every day there were noises from upstairs of her bedroom door opening and footsteps to and from the bathroom, ending with the eventual closure of her bedroom (now my fathers bedroom) door. My bedroom is opposite his and I could never have the door open in the evening or at night. There was always a growing sense of someone, or something on the landing, watching all the time. But I’ll dedicate another post to that at another time.
I never really thought about it much until I was showing Grace the photos on the fireplace when she was about 7 months old. I showed her a picture of my family and was teaching her people’s names. I showed her a photo of my Father when he graduated the Police Academy, he was standing next to my Nan so I said her name and tried to get Grace to point to where she was in the photo, like she had with the multiple other photos. She looked at me and pointed behind me, to the cupboard under the stairs and said, clear as day, “Nanny.” Seems a bit unimportant, until I tell you that that cupboard is completely empty. Except for my Nan’s Urn. I froze. The temperature dropped and I couldn’t bring myself to turn round and look. I heard what sounded like the door handle squeak and the door creak as it someone were trying to open it. It stopped after about 10 seconds and I immediately heard the footsteps upstairs. We were home alone, my Father works 12 hour shifts in London and his house was in a village about 45 minute train journey away. He wouldn’t have been home for hours. After a few minutes things seemed to go back to normal, I locked us in my bedroom all the same. I never joked lightly about my Nan’s ‘daily routine’ again. I moved out a few weeks later, and my dad sold the house not long after. We don’t spend enough time at his new house to experience anything. I don’t know who she saw, but I know it wasn’t the last time she would see someone who wasn’t physically there.
Hello. Firstly, I apologize if this get’s a bit complicated, I’m going to start off by explaining a few things that will set the scene that was my room when I was younger. I was personally afraid of the dark, kind of still am due to what I’ve seen, so I always had a Nightlight plugged into the wall next to my bedroom door that leads out into the hallway. Due to having cats that would spray everything my older sister and I had to have our bedroom doors shut all night. I used to have one of those standard “can throw everything under the bed and have a clean floor” kind of beds that was above the floor, now I have a drawer bed for good reason. One morning, back when I was younger, it was still dark outside and I had just woken up from a heavy sleep. My bed was positioned to wear my feet aimed at the door and my head, the furthest away from the door, was near the window. I had what my mother always referred to as a “Headache Pillow” which sat between me and the edge of the bed. So when you had a headache you rest your head on it at the side so the headache can go away, or just from keeping you from falling off the bed and gaining one. Well, after I had woken up, I looked around my room lazily and then noticed movement in my peripheral. I glanced over and stopped dead, wide eyed. On my headache pillow, slowly crawling kind of like a spider, was a black, shadowy, sharply pointed fingered hand moving upward towards my wall, and my regular pillows. It looked like it was reaching from underneath my bed. So I kept staring dead at it, the light from my nightlight making sure I didn’t lose sight of it until it slowly brushed itself back down under my bed. The rest of that morning I didn’t go back to sleep, and I had school that morning. I waited till I heard my father get up, but I was still too scared to call out. I knew it couldn’t have been my older sister playing a prank on me, I heard her get up that morning and my door didn’t open at all that night. I’d seen things two other times when I was younger after that, both at my bed’s footboard between the designed gapes like baseboards have. One looked like a cat’s tail slaying and flicking about, and I know our only cat wasn’t in my closed room. The other either looked like a blunted shark’s fin, or maybe a bald shadowed head, I couldn’t tell which, I just know I was on high alert every one of those nights. Now though, I’m doing pretty alright so long as I have another living being in my room with me. But I never wish to be in another room, dark or otherwise, with a bed that’s above the floor. The image I’ve provided are quick examples as to sort of how they looked, though the hand did look more human just with pointed tipped fingers.
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The Shadow People I live in rural New England, a few miles from a very small town. Our area i...
The low hiss of an all too familiar voice invaded Jonathan’s ears again as he lay as still as a statue. Tears silently welled in his eyes as he made sure to keep his arms and legs as close to the middle of the bed as possible. A while before, he had made the mistake to fall asleep with his arm dangling off the side of the mattress. The sensation of his hand being crushed and broken was the most pointed incident in existence to his six year old mind. His parents had found him on the floor with a mangled wrist. Both they and the doctor told him that he had fallen out of bed.
He wanted to believe them.
The voice cut through the air again, sounding like a snake’s hiss mashed with a hyena’s mocking cackle. When it spoke, the air filled with a sulfuric smell that matched the voice, and it made Jonathan’s face scrunch up in disgust. “Little one, I know you’re up there.” It stopped for a moment, and the noise of claws scraping on a hardwood floor started to fill the room. “I heard what your mother said,” Jonathan curled up in the middle of the bed under mountains of blankets and pillows. “She said that I’m in your head, that I don’t even exist, that if you don’t think about me, I’ll go away,”
My name is Chris, half Welsh half Hungarian, and I live in London. My cousin, Daniel, half Hungarian half Canadian , lives in a town 40 miles from Toronto, in Canada. Our mothers are two sisters from Hungary, and beacause of them, we are both fluent in Hungarian, and this is an important part of the story.
Every year, we would go to Canada to visit my cousin’s family for a week. This one time, about 10 years ago, when we were 11 and 12 years old, we were left alone playing on my cousin’s brand new Playstation 3 while our parents were out shopping in Toronto.
It was about 7 p.m. and we started hearing strange sounds coming from downstairs. My cousin thought that it was her grandma, bringing us something to eat, but as he looks down the stairs, he looked into the eyes of a 6′ 5” 300 pound man with a baseball bat. He immediately sprinted to his room and told me to get up and run into the bathroom, but he said everything in Hungarian so that the burglar didn’t understand us. We ran into the bathroom, locked it, and tried to think about what we were going to do. The biggest issue was that my phone had no signal in Canada, while his was downstairs in the living room, unless this guy took it.