Okay, hopefully I’m in the correct subreddit. I’m not exactly new to Reddit, but I only really use it to lurk on some of the nursing-related forums here, so my formatting might be off.
I have been experiencing frequent night terrors lately that are connected to the event that I will soon describe, so my boyfriend suggested that I post this story on this website. He believes I will feel better about everything if I discuss it openly. I haven’t told my psychiatrist anything because I didn’t want him to think I was crazy (I see him because I have anxiety and depression, even prior to the incident).
Now that I think about it, I should probably explain what happened. All of this took place over a period of about two months in September of last year. I started it all off by jogging.
For me, beginning to jog was a somewhat novel activity. I mean, I’ve always been athletic and very active, but I detested jogging/running because I always felt self-conscious while doing it. I believe that my hips aren’t aligned properly because when I run, it feels like my left foot hits the ground harder than my right, resulting in knee pain. Anyway, I had just started nursing school and with that and work I just did not have time to go to the gym so running kind of became my new thing.
By September, I was running 3–4 days a week on average. The town I live in has a water runoff system, which is like a man-made creek that circles the entire city and gets dumped somewhere, but my knee seemed to be adjusting and I wasn’t getting winded as easily (running is tough!). This system undoubtedly has a name, but I’m having trouble coming up with it at the moment. Anyway, a jogging path follows it as it passes through the neighborhood next to mine. I used to go there to run because I enjoyed seeing and hearing the water. I felt as though I was sort of getting away from the suburbs. even though the creek was artificial. I’m not sure, but it seemed more “natural.”. Sorry, I’ve gotten off topic.
I therefore used to jog there. Once upon a time.
On a very hot day, I once went jogging. In case you didn’t know, I’m from Texas, where the summer months last until almost November and are extremely hot. At least 93 degrees had to have been the outside temperature that day. It stank so bad as I remember, and I was running on the path next to the creek. Reeked to high heaven. The creek will dry up during a drought, leaving the shallow, stagnant water to rot in the sun.
At least, I told myself that.
The creek actually smelled different than what was reported.
It brought back memories of a time when I was an aid working in a nursing home and I was tending to a patient who had a bedsore that had turned necrotic and infected. a stifling, hot odor.
On that particular day, that’s how the creek smelled.
I tried to jog more quickly because I couldn’t stand the smell. I didn’t even care if those jogging nearby noticed me as I covered my nose. I had it all over me. In my mouth, my hair, and my nose. I felt as though I were swimming through it. I couldn’t believe the other runners on the path weren’t experiencing the same effects as me. Being a medical professional, I reasoned that perhaps I was just more sensitive.
I eventually came to the point where the path turned away from the creek and continued behind the homes in my neighborhood. I continued my jog after feeling relieved to be out of the creek, assuming that a dead armadillo, skunk, or coyote may have rotted inside.
I hadn’t been running for long when I noticed something else. I was using my phone to listen to music when I heard a strange noise coming from behind me in the gaps between the music’s loud and quiet passages.
The sound of breathing was immediately recognized by me. breathe slowly. Not the labored breathing of the “fat man trying to run.”. But labored breathing from physical trauma. similar to sucking in air while making crackling, gurgling, and regurgitations noises. As soon as I heard something, I yanked my earbuds out and turned around to see what it was.
Please be patient while I write more; I’ll ask you. As I type, my body is sick. I nearly just want to delete this entire post. I’m sure someone on here has experienced a similar occurrence, so I know I need to share this and get it out there. Simply put, I’d rather not.
When I spun around, I could see where the breathing was coming from. breathing that rattles and crackles.
A man jogging behind me was the source of the noise. In contrast, he wasn’t jogging. In reverse, he was moving. It appeared almost mechanical. Moving backwards with his arms fiercely swung 90 degrees up and down. You’ve probably seen people jog in a similar manner to this in order to strengthen their calf muscles and alleviate shin splints, but he wasn’t doing that. He was moving quickly. reverse the direction of the dot.
The back of his head was all I could make out. Brown and untidy, his hair was. Black windbreaker with a purple baseball cap on. What the hell is going on? wasn’t actually my first thought; rather, it was “why on earth would you wear a black windbreaker suit in this heat?”. The shrill, repetitive sound of nylon rubbing against nylon distracted me. He was moving more quickly.
I didn’t have much time to think, other than the fact that I wanted to get away from this man. I was confident that I could sprint up the path, across the grass, and into the alleyway behind my house. I started running at this point, having forgotten about my ear buds, and I could feel the sting of their insulated wires slapping against my thighs.
I sprinted across the wide grassy area to the alleyway. My legs were on fire, and my chest was starting to feel tight and hot. In close proximity to my house.
SWISH SWISH SWISH.
He was speeding up behind me, I could hear it. As I continued to laboriously sprint the alleyway leading to the back of my house, I started to cry. Since I could see the top of it, I began to feel optimistic that I would reach it and this nightmare would end. Even now, I could still hear the sharp inspirations and hacking phlegm coming from behind me.
At the back gate, I finally arrived, I sprinted for the latch. It was easy to unlock; all you had to do was lift the latch, but my hands were trembling so badly that I found it difficult to grip and lift it. My stomach tightened as I braced myself for the impending appearance of the thing around the fence and its imminent attack.
Though it didn’t.
He persisted in running down the alley. I craned my neck to look at his face while still quaking in fear and a little relieved. The next thing I witnessed nearly brought me to my knees. I believed I was going to pass out as my face started to get hot and saliva started to fill my mouth.
His face was absent. That is not to say that there was just skin with no eyes, nose, or mouth. It resembled his head’s back almost exactly as it had before. Brown hair and a purple baseball cap.
I was now able to pry open the gate and sprint inside. How was your run, sweetheart? I could hear my dad asking from the kitchen, but I just ran to him, buried my face in his chest, and sobbed uncontrollably. He asked me what was wrong and whether I was okay as I pulled away from him after crying for a good few minutes there. I let him know that I had to use the restroom first. I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I was shaking so much it almost made me convulse. I tried to calm myself down by taking several deep breaths, but I could feel it rising in my throat. It was necessary for me to throw up. I quickly lifted the toilet lid and leaned over the side to brace myself. I heaved myself into the water with a jerk. When I vomit, I always close my eyes because the thought of seeing it makes me want to keep vomiting. As it was thrown into the toilet, I could feel the vomit stinging my nose and throat. There was so much that I couldn’t stop. I managed to catch my breath, wipe my mouth, and open my eyes after making what had to be at least eight productive trips to the bathroom. There was a hazy mixture of mud and moss in the toilet bowl. ., which had a fleshy-necrotic odor.
I’m currently unable to write anything. It almost feels as though if I keep writing, I might be able to bring this back to life. Even after writing that, I’m not sure if I feel any better. But I need to get to bed because it’s getting late. I no longer spend the night at my house; instead, I spend it with my boyfriend at his. Every night I go there to sleep. Particularly now that I can hear the breathing again.