Not Your Average shadow person

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Before this house, I didn’t believe in ghosts, after moving out, I haven’t seen another one. I am the first person to pick apart a video or a picture that is a hoax. That said, I have a story for you.

I was younger, about 10 years old, when I encountered the weird world of the paranormal. We’d just moved into a new home; it was the last house down on a dead end dirt road. The only other home on this street was our neighbor to the right.

He was an old man, could barely walk, and completely blind in one eye, and mostly blind in the other. I heard my parents mention he had daughters before but I never actually saw them. According to my parents, they were just waiting around for their dad to die. Pretty depressing, actually.

I mention him, not because he is necessarily part of the story, but because he clearly cannot be: you will understand why soon.

It was late at night the first time. My large family and I were just arriving home from a trip to the Thumb Area of Michigan, where our family vacations each year. There was an adequate amount of moonlight on this cool summer night, that highlighted edges of my mom’s broken down Omni that sat perpendicular to the gravel drive we were pulling into. As my siblings and I piled out of the car (two boys older than me, and two boy/girl twin toddlers) I noticed the moon also reflecting light on the ring of our new trampoline in the backyard.

Being reminded of the thing also made me excited to go play on it.

My family headed toward the house, while I jogged back to the trampoline. We had a large yard, so it took my legs a while to get me there. About halfway to it though, I stopped dead, nearly falling over myself.

Standing just next to the trampoline was a tall, pitch black, male figure. He didn’t move and yet I could feel my flesh pimple at the sight of him. I screamed.

Around the corner of the house, my older brothers came running. They were looking at me at first, but when they saw what I was making eye contact with, they too, stopped in their tracks.

“What is that?” The oldest one asked

“It looks like a guy!” The other replied, just above a whisper.

“Dad! Come quick!”

We turned back to the house in unison, watching for our stepdad to round the corner. He did, and when he found us standing around, he was incredibly confused. “What is it, guys?”

David, the oldest, pointed toward the trampoline. “Can’t you see him?”

My stepdad stared into the space my brother pointed and shook his head. We all looked at him, dumbfounded. How could he not see it? It was RIGHT THERE! In turn, we exchanged looks, and then turned our eyes back to the spot the man was. Just like that though, he was gone. Like the flick of a light switch.

None of us were brave enough to wander back there, to see if he was hiding somewhere or something, we just called it quits, and went inside, talking about it for the rest of the night.

I wish I could say I never saw the shadow man again- but I can’t. I saw him one more time before we moved out of that house.

My whole family has seen him at various points, but I want to stick to the facts here, so I’m just going to tell you what I know. Which is about the second and more terrifying encounter.

I was walking home from the bus stop. From the start of the road to our house at the end, it’s about a quarter mile, so it’s a good hike to get from point A to point B. During that walk, I’ve made a habit out of reading books.

Occasionally, as I’m reading, I will look up, to make sure I’m still walking in a straight line. The first few times, went as usual, a little straightening of the trajectory, and back to the book. About the third time (still quite a distance from my house) I see the black shadow again. He’s right in front of our mailbox, bending down, as if he’s just retrieving letters from his own mailbox. Then, the shadow turns in my direction. Oh, I’ve stopped walking by the way, and when this man faces me, I lose control of my bladder.

My heart is thundering, my hands shaking. I almost let go of my book, but I felt the texture of the paper beneath my fingers slipping, and I stopped it just in time. I looked down at it, just wanting to look at anything but the shadow man. I tried to read the words but I couldn’t.

It wasn’t because my mind was elsewhere, mind you. I physically could not read this book anymore because it was written in a different language now. A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE! What language? No idea. It seemed to by some sort of ancient romantic language, like latin, but not quite. Then again, I’ve never learned latin, so maybe?

I blinked in disbelief. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This cannot. be. real. The words were still there, in whatever language it was.

I looked up again and I watched the figure vanish into the line of our pine trees on the front lawn.

Then, when I looked at my book again, it was back in English, as if it had been that way all along.

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