Has anyone else seen it, or an I the only one?
I’ve done my best to research this phenomenon, if it even is one, to no avail; there is not a single dream journal in print or through the Internet grape vine that can ease my unsettled heart. Two packs of cigarettes and a house to myself are all I have each night, and the light from the screen projecting the deepest and darkest corners of the internet are as comforting as a polite mugging; I just need to sleep without dreams.
A few years ago, my father died. He was a good, Nordic man, a sailor and a veteran with a heart of gold and a liver of blackened steel. After my mother stole my siblings and I away from him when I was a child, only to bring us to our jailor of an abusive stepfather, he has been my protector. My drunken, jobless, kind hearted saint of a father. In the last few years of the boozing haze of his life, an entire twenty-four pack of beer would be drained within twelve hours every day; each night he would fall asleep with a burning cigarette in his hand, and an aluminum can at his feet. Our ranch style deer shack of a house never burned to the ground, but that would most likely be an improvement. I’m currently nestled deep in the woods, the developments of concrete jungle miles away from the original homestead.
When he died, I was twenty-three years old. I had no family, no husband, and no morals. On my twenty-fourth birthday on an unseasonably cold day in May, I buried him. The priest and I had the occasion to ourselves. I’ve been doing drugs for most of my life, but the remainder of my money and pathetic inheritance fell into the deep hole that is cocaine addiction. A year ago I tried to sell my couch in exchange for a couple of measly lines; even today, I’m not far from that mess. No much longer after that, I tried to kill myself.
Earlier in that week, up to the attempt, I had been catching squirrels running lose in the attic, and had no idea how to get rid of them. So one day, drinking a beer on the back porch, I went to the sack I had them in, and tied it to the end of my black Mustang’s exhaust, got in and revved the engine for the entire woods to hear. When I opened the back, the corpses were charred black, slicked with grease and grime; it was then, I knew I wanted to die.
I jumped into her, my Black Widow, the Mustang, and shut the garage door. The ignition clicked over, engine blaring in the small concrete cube of a room. I laid back with a beer, and closed my eyes; not even crying. But fate, or so it seems, wants me to suffer; my father’s navy buddy, Ross, heaved the door open at the last minute, screaming, “Kris! Krissy!” and dragged me out, semiconscious into the gravel driveway. He saved my life, and after such a kind deed, he died of lung cancer three months ago.
Fast forward to two days ago; I was upstairs sleeping, and suddenly the door slams. “I’m home!” my father bellows. Clear as day, as certain as the keys I’m using are real. I ran, tripping every step, to the stair overlooking our door, to see nothing. Just the cold and reassuring loneliness that there isn’t a soul on Earth that cares about me. Even my dreams have started to turn.
For years, I’ve read scary stories. They give me a sense of power over life, a feeling of control. The words on a page that send shivers down your spine are a thrill difficult to achieve in other places, but there is very little truth in any story out there. But my dream, the dream is reality. Reality is the dream. Only in the sense that reality is the escape, not the other way around.
The night of my father’s voice, I slept deeply. The bed in my father’s old bedroom sits in front of a closet door, but in my dream it was blocked by something. At the wooden footboard of the antiquated frame, stood what looked like a man. Very tall, well over six feet, dressed in dark colors; he wore what looked like a suit, but memory on the clothes is hard to come by. His face was very long, almost a horse like quality, and pale. His irises were dark as well, and his expression was both blank and sinister. His mouth was extremely wide, and when he opened to speak, there were so many teeth I would certainly regret referring to him as a human being. But he never spoke, acted like he had changed his mind, and smiled. An ear to ear, wider than the Grand Canyon smile. And with that same grin, he lifted an overly long arm with boney fingers like that of a massive spider, and reached out for me. With his pointer finger out, he touched my forehead, but never actually made contact with bone; rather, the finger pushed my brain inside the skull. I felt as if he was informing me, touching me with knowledge, but what? I have no answer to that question.
Last night the dream was similar, but he wasn’t at the bed’s end. He was standing at its side like a family member stands beside the hospital gurney. He leaned in close to me, the features of his smooth and pale face nearly translucent and corpse like; the corpse that’s been found floating under six inches of bathwater for days. This time he produced two fingers, like a peace sign, and with the same terrible smile, pressed my eyes back, again never touching skin. His touch this time was cold, like having an ice cube against bare skin, only worse. On both occasions I have awoken from the nightmare with the closet door ajar, when it was clearly clicked shut each night. And thus brings me to my current predicament.
The closest thing that even reminds me of my experiences come out of works of horror fiction, and certainly not legends or tales from other horrified victims. But the symptoms have been invading from the dream world more and more; I hear frantic running up the stairs in the morning, doors slamming, whispering. The closet at the foot of the bed is cold, like a meat locker, and I can’t find any family photographs. And worst of all, the sun sets in a matter of hours, and the closest hotel is sixteen miles from here. Would driving through woods in the dark actually help my situation, or just be another chapter in a grisly paperback in a five-dollar bin at the bookstore?
I’m preparing tonight, with light and heat, as well as nailing the closet door shut. If I need to, the car’s garage bay is open and the keys in my pocket, but I haven’t been to hell and back to be frightened off by a figment in my own head. This is my only home, and despite the crippling sense of being alone in the dark, I certainly don’t need a friend like him.
Credit To – M.D.T
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I have not seen this entity, but I have seen a similar one. I was in a field on a hill surrounded by trees when I suddenly became aware of something that didn’t belong. It was a humanoid shape moving oddly through the grass close to the treeline far below me. It looked not unlike the head and upper torso of a young girl, with unkempt black hair hanging loosely all the way down her back, stuck on top of two legs that were much too small for its body, but with those same arms you were describing: long, thin, and bony with clawlike nails. I think it was wearing a ragged and faded dress, but the clothes are difficult to remember. As soon as I detected it the rest of the dream began to fade away as if I was looking at it through lenses going out of focus. It was moving as if running but without so much as tilting its torso and its overly long arms hanging straight down by its sides and dragging on the ground. As if it had caught me detecting it or it had been seeking me out from the start it “ran” up to me immediately. It covered what seemed a great distance before I could even react and as it drew nearer my dream faded more and more until all I saw was the entity. It approached me until its face was almost touching my own. It had pale, gray-white, almost translucent skin. I don’t remember a nose, but I can’t say there wasn’t one. Its mouth was as if something had ripped off the flesh from cheek-to-cheek, exposing rows of misshapen and jumbled teeth. Where there should’ve been eyes, there were only holes gouged into the entity’s face. It didn’t move. It didn’t interact with me in any physical sense. But I was overwhelmed with a sense of hostility and wrongness emanating from it. As a lucid dreamer, I used my maintained awareness to consciously drive this invader out. I made a motion as if I were literally “shoving” it out of the dream. When I did, instead of the conscious force I was creating coming in contact with and driving out this malignant entity, my arms just sank inside of it, as though I had just pressed them into cold, black tar. As with tar as well, my arms became trapped. I couldn’t move and this wave of an emotion I can’t quite appropriately describe joined the emanations of hostility and wrongness. It was as if I had done what it wanted, or more, it found my actions amusing in some sickening kind of way. I immediately awoke as if driven from my own dream-state. However I still felt the presence of this entity lingering on the edge of my mind, like it was in the room with me but I couldn’t see it. I used some techniques I had learned to drive it and any other entities out of my sphere of influence (it took several attempts) and then I reinforced the spiritual barrier I had up. It lingered on the border of my influence for a while but I eventually lost track of it. I haven’t encountered it or any other entities in some time and I too have no small amount of curiosity as to who or what I encountered. I have thought about reaching out and contacting it, but every time I do, I remember that wave of indescribable emotion I knew was coming from it… Like a moment of pleasure a cruel child gets before pulling the wings off a grasshopper.
He knows what you’ve done.
I can’t wait for the day people stop using the same description for the antagonist in every creepypasta. Enough is enough.
Boring and unsatisfying. It feels incomplete to me.
its a little bit hard to understand when I saw the title i thougt it was about an ghost
I love this writing style its so detailed
Tyler: It was good i felt that some of this was actually frightening but also weird rate:7.5/10
Adam: This was a truly and sincerely deep story, I am astonished by the elegant writing techniques and pacing. Rate:8.9/10
look, the closet door opening is probebly just the wind shifting in your house, happens to me all the time. dont get me wrong, I have encountered ghosts and still live (possibly) with one, but try ing to move wont help, demons latch on, but if its a friendly presance then you need to ask it to leave you alone, I know it workes because i would hear laughing every night so i said “i dont care if your here, just please dont hurt me”, never heard it again. I live alone. Please dont correct my spelling, i hated that part of school, my forte is math.
I enjoy seeing writers be their own people…this was yet another great example of a(m) (sic.,) writer doing what they want. Well done!
If the title (spelling errors aside) is a legitimate question, look up Sleep Apnea (or Sleep Paralysis)… It sounds similar. Or also, the paranormal route, this sounds like many “Shadow Person” stories… and Yes, I did this research because of a similar experience.
…If the title was for dramatic effect… well, then, NEVERMIND!
Woa rly
Very good story ^^
If only it were real….
There were a few things about this story that made me dislike it. The first being that you described your house as a “deer shack” then go on to talk about having a garage. When I think of shacks I do not picture it having a garage. Second being that you were a cocaine addict who resulted in trying to sell your couch for a few small lines. Yet you did not try to sell your mustang? Lastly the timeline was everywhere and hard to follow.
Come on guys he’s just human i thought it was great
Ive seen it. This thing has been coming out of my closet for a few nights now. Last night i dreamed i was laying inear the edge of the bed and i opened my eyes to see him right there. The part that i dont like is i have a kind of bunk bed, but i have a desk instead of another bed underneith the top bed, so my bed is about six and a half feet tall, and when i opened my eyes in my dream he was right rhere, his face just inches from mine.
I loved this; I really hope something like this doesn’t happen to me! So scary, If this is real then I am totally screwed.
Okay why the heck does the misspelled totle mAtter it’s an amazing story who cares if it’s misspelled or not?
When she said, “very tall man, dress in a suit”, I was like, Slendy :D! But then she said he had a horse face and facial features, I was like ” oh .-. “
I suggest purification. burn sage, spray holy water, put brick dust in Windows and doorways and a circle of salt around your bed
Really good. I’m certain I had a dream like this but it was a little different. It was an(or should I say boy) that was wearing a plain hoodie and jeans he did the same thing but seemed to always turn my lamp off and wasn’t bony he was more human.
grinning man
I’ve had a similar experience…
Day 1 – I wake with an unexplainable urge to look at the wall to the right of me, and find a light projection that looks like 2 eyes just staring at me, the only problem is that it’s currently 3 a.m. and there’s no light to of made that. I turn back at the TV, but suddenly I hear tapping. I turn back to the wall, the eyes still there, as well as a black hand with sharp pointed bony fingers tapping the desk that sat beside the eyes. It would hit the desk with it’s pointy fingers and I would hear the tap right at that moment, so I couldn’t explain what it was, but I knew it was real.That made it all the more terrifying. Help me understand
Sounds a lot like Slendy Bendy Man
Technicaly if the events are real including her dream then it is a true story c: and the one letter typo was a mistake any normal person would make, the N and M are directly beside each other on a keyboard so if you type correctly the mistake would be very common to you…. Just saying.
you said you did cocaine a side affect of cocaine is hallucination weird dreams pretty much what you have been saying renaissance writers did cocaine for those reasons people thought they can connect with the dead while using cocaine pretty much by doing cocaine you screwed your brain up and this is what your brain is doing because its confused on dreaming when you are awake what’s real what’s not your brain is unstable that is why you are experiencing what you are experiencing my opinion rehab and what ever you do don’t relapse
I have seen that same figure as well. It is the reason I don’t leave any doors in my room open at night. I left my restroom door open and let the light from the light outside the bathroom window in and there it was walking towards my bed. It came right up to me so I started telling myself its time to wake up and when I thought I did, it looked me in the eye and smiled wide. Real wide with sharp teeth. It looked very close to the aliens they show on TV from the Alien autopsy stuff. I turned my head to go back to sleep, blinked and it was 11 am the next morning.
After reading your story, I thought I should share mine to tell you you are not alone.
Ok so what you do is next time you see him…. poke his eyes… see if he smiles then :D