A (13:59)
Experian. When I was seven, I woke up one night with a throbbing earache. It was the kind of pain that makes it impossible to go back to sleep no matter how hard you try. My mom always told me to wake her up if I didn't feel good, so I decided to get out of bed and tell her. I figured she would know what to do. Maybe she would give me some medicine or something. Or maybe one of those warm washcloths she said helped with everything. I climbed out of bed, rubbing my ear, and shuffled towards the door. As soon as I opened it, though, I stopped in my tracks. Someone was sitting in the chair in the living room, just a few feet away from my bedroom door. At first I figured of course, it was my mom or my stepdad. They sometimes stayed up late watching tv. Though the house was completely quiet, which was strange, the only light came from the faint glow of the street lamp outside, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Mom? I whispered, my voice a little bit shaky. The person slowly shook their head. No. Um, Mike? I asked, hoping it was my stepdad. It had to Be. Again. The person shook their head, slower this time, almost deliberately slow. Something about his movement sent a chill crawling up my spine. It wasn't just that they were answering me. It was the way they sat there in the dark, completely still except for their head, which moved with this unnatural, jerky motion. The light from the street lamp wasn't enough to see anything clearly in the room, but I could tell something was off about this person. Their face didn't look right. It wasn't just dark. It was distorted, like someone had taken a photo of a face and smudged it with their thumb. The features didn't line up right. Too high, too low, too stretched. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the more I stared at this person, the more terrified I became. My heart was pounding, and I decided I didn't want to walk past whoever this was. I went back to my room and shut the door. I climbed back into bed. My plan was simple. Close my eyes, pretend none of it happened, and wait until morning. But I could not shake the image of that figure in the chair. Something about the way they sat silent. It burrowed itself into my brain and would not go away. I tried to convince myself it was my imagination. Or maybe I had seen a shadow and made it seem like it was something it wasn't. After all, I was only 7 years old. Kids do see things in the dark all the time that aren't there, right? I pulled the blanket up to my chin, squeezed my eyes shut, and just told myself to go to sleep. Go to sleep. Just go to sleep. I don't know how much time passed. Maybe a few minutes, maybe longer, but I eventually opened my eyes. I really wish I hadn't. The figure was standing in my doorway. The light from the street lamp barely reached them, but I could see their outline perfectly. They were tall, taller than my mom or Mike. Their head was tilted to the side, like a dog that was confused. It looked like they were smiling, but I couldn't tell. Then they just started nodding. The nodding was fast and jerky, like their neck was on a spring. It did not match their face at all. It was frantic, almost violent looking. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I just stared at them, completely frozen. This thing stood in my doorway, nodding furiously at me, like it was trying to tell me something that I couldn't understand. Finally, I managed to pull the blanket over my head. It was a stupid, childish thing to do, but what else could I do? I stayed like that, shaking and listening for anything, trying to hear if they were still in my room or not. The house was silent. Too silent. After what felt like an eternity, I peeked out from under the blanket. The doorway was empty. I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. When the sun came up, I bolted out of bed and ran to my mom and Mike's room. They were still asleep, of course, snoring, completely unaware of the terror that just happened to me. I told them everything, and they just looked at each other and then back at me. Not sure if they took me seriously, but they told me to knock it off. Oh, great. Thanks a lot. The image of that distorted face was burned into my brain forever. I knew it was real, regardless if they didn't believe me. For a while, nothing else happened. I did start sleeping with my bedroom light on, which was difficult, but I got used to it. My mom and Mike thought that I had a vivid nightmare that night and moved on. But I didn't move on. I could never stop looking over my shoulder, especially at night, even when I was not at home. And then, two weeks later, it happened again. And this time I wasn't the one who saw it. I woke up to the sound of my mom screaming. I ran out of the room and found her in the hallway, clutching her chest. What's wrong, Mom? I cried. She pointed toward the living room. Mike was right behind me. The chair in the living room, the same one where I had seen the figure, was tipped over. What happened? Mike asked, frustration in his voice. I saw someone, my mom whispered. I swear there was someone sitting there. When I turned on the light, they were gone. Mike tried to convince her that it was just her imagination. I don't know why people always say this stuff. What is so hard to believe about it? Why are you so inclined not to believe someone when they experienced something terrible? After that, we started locking all the doors and windows religiously. Mike even put up new locks on the front and back doors. But it didn't help. The figure kept coming back. Sometimes it was just a shadow in the corner of the room. Sometimes it was the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway. And sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and feel like someone was standing right next to my bed. One night, Mike stayed up late, determined to catch whatever or whoever it was. He sat in the living room with a baseball bat, waiting. Around 2am he heard a faint rustling sound coming from the hallway. He tightened his grip on the bat and stood up. When he turned on the light, the hallway was empty. Or so he thought. When he looked back at the chair. It was rocking slowly, as if someone had just been sitting in it. Eventually, we couldn't take it anymore. We had to move. A few months later, it happened, and we left the memories and whatever was haunting it behind. Sometimes, late at night, even in this new house, I think I still see a distorted face in the dark, nodding furiously. Maybe it's just a dream. Maybe not. Every time it happens, though, I wake up wondering if it's still here with us, waiting for something. To really get my story, you have to understand the layout of my third floor landing. It's not particularly large, but it's designed in a way that's just unsettling enough to stick with you. There's a single narrow staircase that creaks and groans as you climb it. At the top, the landing forms a T shape. To the left, there's my office, where I sometimes work late into the night. To the right, my bedroom, with a door that's always just a little harder to close than it should be. Straight ahead is the bathroom, with its frosted glass shower and a small, high window that lets in just enough light during the day to give the space an eerie, sterile glow. That bathroom has always felt a bit off to me. Maybe it's the way the sound of the water echoes against the tiles, or how the shower door sticks sometimes, even though there's no visible damage. Whatever it is, I've never been entirely comfortable in there, but I chalked it up to my overactive imagination. One night around 10pm I decided to take a shower before heading to bed. It had been a long day and I just wanted to wash off the stress and crawl under the covers. The glass panels on my shower are that kind of concave in convex frosted glass that makes everything on the other side look like a blurry, distorted shadow. I always thought it was kind of cool. It was like looking through a funhouse mirror or something. But that night, it would prove to be anything but fun. The water was warm and the steam was starting to fog up the glass. I was lost in my thoughts. I should have said this to this person. Person. I should have said that. Letting the rhythmic patter of the water calm my nerves as I thought about the events of the day, the conversations that I had. Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something. A shape. At first I thought it was just the way the steam was clinging to the glass, creating patterns that played tricks on my eyes. But as I focused, I realized it wasn't random. It was a hand. It wasn't just any Hand, though it was dark, almost black, and seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light of the bathroom. The fingers were long and thin, too long to belong to anyone I knew. It wasn't pressed against the glass like you might imagine, but instead hung in the air just on the other side of the shower door. My heart started pounding in my chest. My family is all pale. The kind of pale that burns after five minutes in the sun. This hand. It definitely did not belong to anyone in my house. I froze, my mind racing. Maybe it was a shadow from outside. Maybe one of the neighbor's trees had bent in the window, casting a strange silhouette through the bathroom window. But no. The hand moved slowly and deliberately. It tilted almost as if it was waving to me. And then it did something I'll never forget. It reached for the light switch. The switch was just outside the shower, mounted on the wall near the door. I watched, paralyzed, as this hand seemed to stretch and pulse impossibly far, its fingers brushing the edge of the switch. And then, with a soft click, the light went out. Pitch black. The sound of the water hitting the tiles suddenly felt deafening. My breath was ragged and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Let me tell you, being plunged into darkness while you're in the shower is terrifying. Especially when you know someone's in the room and they turned off the light. I have never felt fear like that before. It wasn't the kind of fear you get from a jump scare in a movie or a sudden loud noise. This was primal, bone deep terror. I was completely vulnerable, literally naked and trapped in a small, dark space with something that I couldn't explain or control. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, not daring to move. The only sound was the water, which had suddenly taken on an almost sinister quality. I kept straining my ears for any other noise. A creak in the floor, a footstep. But there was nothing. Just the water and my own panicked breathing. Finally, I realized I have to do something. So I slowly and cautiously reached out, slid the shower door open. The cold air from the bathroom hit me like a slap in the face, making me shiver. I stepped out onto the tile floor, my wet feet making soft squelch noises that seemed unbearably loud. In this silence, I felt my way to the light switch, half expecting that hand to still be there. When my fingers finally found it, I flipped it up, flooding the room with light. Once again, the bathroom was empty. I checked the door and it was still locked from the inside. I looked under the sink. As ridiculous as that sounds and there was nothing there behind the shower curtain, even in the small cabinet where I kept my towels. No one. No sign that anyone had been in the bathroom with me. The relief that washed over me was almost enough to make me laugh. Almost. But then I remembered the stairs. The staircase leading up to the third floor is old and wooden. It creaks like crazy with even the slightest weight on it. If someone had come up while I was in the shower, I would have heard it. And if they had left, I would have heard that too. But I didn't hear anything. I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that hand again. Those impossibly long fingers reaching for the light switch. I stayed in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin, my ears straining for the slightest sound. But the house was silent. Nothing like that has happened since. I've tried to explain it away, to rationalize what I saw. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe I was just overtired and my mind played a cruel trick on me. But deep down I know what I saw. And every time I'm in that bathroom now, I'm terrified. Especially when I take a shower, half expecting to see the hand again. Sometimes, late at night, I'll hear a creak on the stairs. It's probably just the house settling, right? Maybe the wind rattling the old wood. But every once in a while I'll catch myself holding my breath, waiting to hear the sound of the light switch switch clicking off again. Driving to pick up a friend who was at a cabin party about 40 miles west of where I lived sounded simple enough. I was doing them a huge favor. It was late after all. Close to 2am the back roads were as dark and lonely as you could possibly imagine. No street lights, just the faint glow of my headlights bouncing off the trees and the occasional glint of an animal's eyes in the underbrush. I had been on these kinds of roads before, but something about this night felt different. Heavier somehow. As I navigated the winding path, my phone buzzed in the cup holder. A text from my friend. Bad signal. I'll stay by the road. Just honk when you're close. Great, I thought. Finding this random cabin in the middle of nowhere was going to be a lot more challenging without gps. I adjusted my grip on the wheel and kept going, trying not to overthink the unsettling quiet. That's when I saw it. A red four door sedan parked haphazardly on the side of the road. All of its doors were wide open, and inside Slumped in the seats were four figures. At first I thought they might just be asleep, as weird as that would be. Oh, wait. Maybe they're drunk or something. But as I slowed down, I noticed their heads were tilted at odd angles, like their necks couldn't support them. None of them were moving. Not a twitch, not a breath. Just limp in the dark. I suddenly felt a cold shiver. I didn't stop driving, but I could not help staring as I rolled past. The headlights didn't show much, but the scene was enough to make my skin crawl. Who leaves their car doors open like that? Who were they? Why were they sitting in the car like that? Was something wrong? I'm not proud of this, but I did not have the guts to stop and see if they needed help. My mind raced with the possibilities. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe they were trying to lure me. Something inside me told me, instinctually, keep driving. I tried calling my friend again, and there was no signal. Just static and the faint hum of the engine as I drove deeper into the woods. Eventually, I reached the end of the road where the cabin was supposed to be. Except it wasn't. The cabin wasn't there. No lights, no sounds of a party. Nothing. I reached a dead end. Frustrated and a little spooked, I turned around as there was nothing else I could do and headed back the way I came. Maybe I missed the turn. By now it was close to 3am the road felt even darker somehow. As I approached the spot where I had seen that red car, I felt my pulse quicken. The car was still there, but something was different. Only the front passenger door was open now, and the figures inside were not slumped anymore. They were sitting upright, heads turned toward the road, toward me. I slowed down almost against my will, trying to process what I was seeing. Their faces were blank, completely expressionless. But their eyes were locked on me, following my car as I crept past. Passed at about 10 miles per hour. It was not just a glance either. It was as if they were waiting for me, expecting me to drive by again. The air inside my car was thick and heavy, like it was pressing down on my chest. I couldn't look away, even though every part of me wanted to. As soon as I was past them, I hit the gas, my tires crunching against the gravel as I sped away. My hands were shaking on the wheel. My heart felt like it was about to explode in my chest. I didn't care about the cabin or my friend anymore. That was just too much. I just wanted to get out of there. When I finally got home, I sat in my driveway for what felt like an hour at least. I thought about calling someone, maybe the police. But what would I even say? Maybe I could just call the non emergency line and just tell them about something weird I saw. I couldn't shake the feeling though, that there was something wrong. Couldn't explain it. I still can't. The next day I called my friend to see if he had made it home. And I apologized profusely. He had, thankfully. Apparently he had gotten a ride with someone else. I wanted to tell him about what I saw. About the figures that I saw inside the car. But I stopped myself, not really sure why. Something just made me feel like I should not talk about it. Like talking about it would make it worse somehow. Even now, years later, I avoid that stretch of road. I don't know who or what I saw that night. And I don't think I really want to. Sometimes I do want to. The curiosity of what I saw. It sucks that I'll never know. Sometimes, late at night when I'm driving alone, I'll catch myself glancing at the side of the road, wondering if I'll ever see something like that again. One night, when I was about 7 years old, bedtime came. Like every other night, I climbed into the second level of my bunk bed. At around 9:30, I snug into my little fortress above the world. The top bunk was my favorite. Hands down, who doesn't love sleeping on the top bunk? Up high, where everything seemed smaller. I was safer up here. I drifted off quickly. I was exhausted from the day, lost in the easy dreams of a child. But that night, safety was an illusion that would shatter before morning. Some point in the night, I woke up. I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was a bad dream I had, or maybe I did hear something. But then I was sure that I heard something. A strained whisper. No, no. It was faint. Almost like it was coming from inside my head. I lay there holding my breath, waiting for the sound to go away. But it didn't. The whisper came again and it was louder this time and full of pain. No. No. My small chest tightened as I pulled the covers up to my face, convincing myself it was just my imagination. I was about to close my eyes when a new sound made my heart stop. The unmistakable creak of the stairs. Slowly and steadily, the boards groaned. Someone heavy was on the stairs. My parents bed was just across the room and I could hear their snoring, steady and undisturbed. It was not them on the stairs. I heard the whisper again. It was more Clear now, as if whoever was saying it was closer. No. No. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the sound would go away, that I would wake up and find this was all just a bad dream. But then came the screaming. It started very suddenly. A sharp, high pitched wail that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It mixed with the whispering and the noise that I heard on the steam stairs, creating a chorus of terror that wrapped itself around me, enveloped me completely. No. No. The voice continued, much louder now, blending with the screams. Terrified and wondering why my parents were not coming into the room, I slid out of bed as quietly as I could. My hands shook as I felt for the ladder, my only way down. Each rung seemed louder than the last, and I winced with every small noise. When my feet hit the floor, I crawled on the ground toward the door. The door offered a full view of the stairs, where the creaking and the whispers were coming from. My fingers found the handle and I twisted it, carefully opening the door just enough to look outside. The staircase loomed in the darkness. It looked like an ominous void. Nothing was moving. For a brief moment, I thought maybe I had imagined all of it. How could I imagine screaming though? But then the whisper came again, and this time from above me. No. No. My heart felt like it was trying to leap out of my chest. The sound was coming from the room upstairs. A room that no one should be in right now. I had to know what it was. I don't know why, but I just had to know. I crept toward the staircase. The house felt alive. Every creak and noise was amplified. I stayed low, peeking around corners, shaking, expecting to see someone. The stairs remained empty. Instead of going up, I decided to check the front door. Maybe I would find some explanation. Maybe someone had come inside and left the door open. My small hand reached for the light switch in the living room, but I hesitated. Something inside told me not to do it. I swallowed hard and inched toward the window. Instead, I peeked outside and I saw them. Three people were standing just outside the window. Their shapes barely illuminated in the pale light. They were unmoving. And they didn't say anything. I'm not sure if they could see me, but they stood still. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't look away. I was petrified. And then, in an instant, they were gone. One second they were there and the next. Just gone. My heart was racing and I stumbled backward. I scrambled to my parents room and leapt into their bed. My mom stirred a little bit, mumbling and asking if I was okay. How could I tell her what I just saw? There were people outside the window. There's someone in the house upstairs. I didn't really know what to do, but I did feel safer lying between them. I'm not really sure what happened that night. Maybe it was just a dream. Or maybe I really saw what I thought I did. I probably should have told my parents. It was supposed to be a cool, quiet evening with my brother, him, 11, and me, 12 years old. We were left to fend for ourselves this night as our parents went on a date night. We weren't scared or anything. This was kind of a normal thing, and we were used to it at this point. Our house was small, all of the lights were on, and we had snacks and a couple of movies lined up to keep us entertained until bedtime. It was just one of those ordinary nights. Nothing felt weird until we heard a knock on the door. I think it was around 8pm and the knock echoed through the house. My brother and I froze for a minute and paused the tv, looking at each other. A voice followed, muffled but clear enough to hear it. Pizza. At first I thought it was my dad playing a joke as they just arrived home. He had a habit of doing stuff like that. Instinctively, I smiled and started walking toward the door, laughing under my breath. But as I reached for the doorknob, my brother told me to stop. He said, that's not dad. The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. He was right. My dad's voice was different. It was deeper. It was warm and familiar. Who was this? It was sharper, almost too casual, like some. Someone trying too hard to sound normal. I froze with my hand just a few inches away from the doorknob. We didn't order any pizza. I called out, my voice shaking. Silence followed. No reply. No retreating footsteps. Just silence. My brother now at my side, clutching my arm, he whispered, maybe we should call Mom. My heart was pounding now. Every beat was loud in my ears. What do I do? For 15 agonizing minutes we sat there silent, not knowing what to do. I opened the closet next to the front door and retrieved my cricket bat. My brother walked over to the fireplace and picked up the ornamental fireplace poker. My eyes darted between the footpath and my brother's pale face. He was clutching the poker so tightly, I could tell that he was more scared right now than he had ever been in his life. Nothing moved. Silence. I tried to convince myself this was just a weird misunderstanding. Maybe my parents ordered us pizza and just forgot to tell us. But something told me this was not right. They definitely would have told us if they ordered pizza. Then finally, there was movement again. A shadow shifted on the footpath just at the edge of my view. The person was tall. They had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and he wore a long coat that seemed to swallow him. But what struck me most was that he was not carrying a pizza. He didn't run or hurry away. He just nonchalantly, slowly walked away. I ducked down, motioned for my brother to stay quiet and low. We waited until we couldn't hear his footsteps anymore. When we finally felt like we were free to move around again, everything felt different. The vibe was destroyed. The cozy warmth of the house was now gone, replaced with cold, dark shadows that seemed darker than normal. I made sure every single light was on in the house. Every single one. We sat on the couch, huddled together, waiting for our parents to come home. When they finally walked through the door, my brother burst into tears. My mom immediately knew something was very wrong. We tried to explain. The story sounded ridiculous, even to us. I'm pretty sure my dad didn't sleep that night. He was in the living room much longer than normal, stepping outside every few minutes to make sure there was nobody out there. I have no idea who the man was or what would have happened if we had opened the door. It's pretty scary to think about, though.
