Okay, I’ve just been staring at my phone for the past hour trying to figure out how I’d put this into words, so I think I’m just gonna go for it. This story is a retelling of something that happened to me last year, so my memory might be a little foggy.
In December of 2022 I had been put under foster care by Child Protective Services, moving to live with my foster mom shortly before Christmas. For the record I’m not an orphan, although I might as well be. Truth is that my dad had been struggling with alcoholism for years, and my mom had died in 2018. While you might think having my dad pulled away from me to go to rehab right before Christmas would be a troubling experience, I was 15, and it was nothing new. The exact same thing had happened in 2019, and I already knew my foster mom well since she was my dad’s ex and the mother of my older half sister. Plus, I didn’t really mind moving into an actual house rather than a dingy apartment, especially one with a huge mancave downstairs that acted as my very own bedroom and living room. But enough of that, I’m here to talk about what happened.
So, shortly after moving back in with my foster mom she decided that we would celebrate that Christmas at my sister’s house. Wether it was the usual 9 hour roadtrip or 1 hour flight, I can’t remember, but what matters is that she lives far away. Which is why I was surprised when my foster mom told me we would visit her again during school break in July of 2023, but other than the frustration of dealing with my niece and nephew, I didn’t have a good reason not to go.
The town my sister lives in is a bit strange, although not so strange that it would be considered “freaky”. Other than the abundance of old american cars and confederate flags, the only other weird thing was the large stone fort stood atop a large hill overlooking the whole town. I spent most of the week sitting in the living room that had been fashioned into a guest bedroom, staring at my phone or watching YouTube. Occasionally seeing or hearing weird yet not out of place stuff from outside my window, fireworks from the fort, teenagers in hoodies walking off into the dark of night, screaming, stuff you would expect from drunk and or high teenagers and young adults.
It was on July 6th, that it happened. It was late, I was tired, and as most people do, I fell asleep. However, unlike most nights, I dreamt, or more accurately, I had a nightmare.
I was in bed, in my dad’s apartment. Laying in the same old indent I had slept in for years due to our mattress being too small for the bed, like a trench, or coffin. I remember looking up at the ceiling, the dim yellowed light not bringing any comfort as I felt the thin wrinkled blanket pushing down on me. I looked to my side, seeing my dad laying on top of the mattress that stood at a higher elevation than where I was sleeping. He snored, as usual. But other than the usual unease that came with night time, there was something else, a sound. I can’t remember exactly, but I believe it was rummaging from the kitchen, paired with heavy footsteps. Even though my dream self didn’t really have evidence, I was convinced whatever was making noise was going to hurt me.
I looked over at my dad, shaking him in an attempt to wake him. “Dad!” I whispered frantically, “There’s someone in our house!” I explained, my heart beating faster as my dad refused to budge. It went on for a minute, my panicked mumbling growing louder and more desperate as I struggled to wake him. After realizing my dad wasn’t going to wake up, I went silent, letting go of his shoulder as I looked back up at the ceiling.
The room was quiet, but the silence didn’t come with relief, or safety, but rather a looming sense of dread. Because I knew the silence wasn’t from a lack of danger, but rather a sign it’d fucked up. I thought back on how I tried to wake my dad, and my throat clogged up. Like all my organs had been crumpled up into a ball around my heart, every breath leaving less room for my heart to beat. I could feel the air circulating in the empty space that once occupied my insides, orbiting around the small pulsating lump that held my lungs, heart, and stomach. I felt like the human version of an ocarina, I could practically hear the howling of the wind dancing around inside me. The once light blanket now felt like a block of cement, pushing down on my ribcage like the top of a coffin.
Have you ever been out in the woods, and suddenly all the birds went quiet? Or maybe you were a young kid, telling your parents about your day at the dinner table, when suddenly your dad dropped his fork after you let slip of something dumb you did. Or, in my case, you were trying to wake your dad because you heard an intruder making noise in your home, when the noise suddenly stopped. Some call it “the calm before the storm”, but I think there’s a much better comparison. That being of following a mountain lion, when you suddenly hear the sound of a twig break beneath your feet. Only to look up, and lock eyes with it. That’s, what I felt.
For a moment, I just laid there, hoping to god that whatever it was that was in my house, hadn’t heard my frantic mumbling. But as the air was broken by the sound of a single footstep, I knew it had heard me. I grabbed the blanket, draping it over myself like a little kid. Whispering over to my unconscious dad in hopes I could wake him, but my call for help was as ineffective as ever. The footsteps approached, the sound of bare feet hitting the wood of the doorframe sending an ice cold chill down my neck. Although I couldn’t see it, I knew that whatever was standing there was tall, bony, and that it had no intent to show mercy. I brought my knees up to my chest, quivering in the fetal position as the material of the blanket became moist with sweat.
The air inside the blanket becoming warm and clammy, the small hairs and crumbs once hidden in the sheet of the bed now glued to my skin like a fly to flypaper. Whatever was standing in my room was now closer, looming over me like a bear sniffing a tent. I attempted to soothe my squirming, the sound of fabric rubbing against my ears slowing as I attempted to gather my thoughts. But I couldn’t think, I was acting on instinct, and it became obvious to me that I was not just a victim, I was prey. I clenched my eyes shut, holding my breath in a frail attempt to play dead. I listened close, hoping to whatever force that controlled the earth that I’d be met with the sound of silence. But instead, I was met with the sound of slow, steady breathing, mixed with the gurgling of liquid.
At that moment, I woke up. It must have been around 3, as the outside was bathed in the dark, cold air of the night. My blanket was drenched in sweat, and whatever microscopic fibers of dirt and dust that lingered in the corners of the room had attached to my skin like the space between your toes after wearing socks. I was terrified, relieved, disgusted, every name in the book. I must have sat there for 10 minutes, doing nothing but stare at the wall. Eventually, I gathered my thoughts and went to the bathroom, washing my face and making sure I couldn’t accidentally piss or shit myself. After a while I returned to the living room and sat back down on the couch that had been fashioned into a large bed, just thinking. What the fuck did I just go through? Why the hell would my brain make up something so disturbing? But after a while of contemplating, I decided I was too tired to deal with it at the moment, so I just laid back down. And after a while, I drifted off to sleep.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my bed, I was in my dad’s apartment again. I was in another nightmare, I can’t fathom how, but I was. There I stood, in the middle of my living room, but something was different. There was a large gap in the floor, with almost marble-like white stairs leading me down into it. And as you do in a dream, I walked down the steps. I was met with a long hallway, the floor and walls the exact same as my apartment. Vibrant, white lights shining through the hallway, almost blinding me. The walls were occasionally broken up by large windows that led to nothing but a dark void, the entire situation felt almost ethereal. I walked down the hallway, only to find a sharp turn leading me down another long hallway. I continued walking, only to find that it turned again. It was clear, I was in a maze with no wrong turns, like the body of a snake. But instead of turning my tail and getting out of there, I just began running. Running down the long hallways like a car on a highway, only slowing down to stop myself from colliding with the walls.
The entire journey was filled with silence, only broken up by the sound of my feet slapping against the smooth wooden boards of the floor. It went on for what felt like hours, just running through the bright hallways as the dark windows whizzed past me. Until I started to get exhausted, my running slowing down to that of a light jog. Eventually I stopped at one of the corners, catching my breath for a moment as I looked at the window placed near the start of the next wall. The glass was clean, and the whole pane was about the size of an average man. A dark shade of wood functioning as the trim around the glass, matching the wooden board functioning as the windowsill. It didn’t quite match the windows in my house, which I saw as strange and out of place. Looking back, it’s strange how a simple window can captivate the human mind when put in a repetitive environment, like animals in a zoo. But although my thoughts on the window still lingered, it was something else that caught my attention. Outside the window wasn’t just a dark void like all the others, there was something there. My brain took a while to register what it was, my eyes barely focusing on it enough to even determine it’s shape. But once my eyes focused, and my thoughts came back to me, my heart sunk.
There stood a tall, bony, pale man. His skin the colour of snow, and his body as skinny as a corpse. He wasn’t wearing clothes, but there wasn’t anything there for him to cover other than his bony ribs and thighs. I slowly looked up, my gaze brushing past his unnaturally long appendages and leathery skin, until my eyes fell on his face. If you could even call it a face. His eyes were missing, replaced with gaping holes, where a a viscous black liquid pooled. I followed the trail of dripping liquid, watching as they traced the shape of his small nose. His nostrils leaking just as much, the black ooze pouring down his nonexistent lip and falling into his mouth. His dirty yet pale teeth shining in contrast to the dark black maw of his mouth, trails of more liquid pouring out between his teeth and down his chin. I stood there, watching him as I felt the familiar tightening of my throat. Then I heard it, the sound that made me piece everything together. His slow, labored breathing, through the sound of gurgling and choking. Next thing I knew I was running, not caring where the path led. I just let my feet take me, my knees almost buckling under me as my body fought the air resistance. But before I got a chance to even blink, it was over.
I was in bed, the window letting the bright light of the outside leak in like a river. I sat up, too tired to think about what just happened. Having 2 nightmares in a row, nonetheless about the same thing. The chances were small, but I just didn’t think about it. The bright sunlight lit up my day, and I just wanted to push it aside and move on. So I pulled out my phone and just sat there, watching YouTube and playing video games. Eventually my sister came into the room to tell me she was going to the mall with the rest of the family, and I just told her I would stay at home. When she left, I thought about what happened, and I decided I should draw what I saw. So I did, https://imgur.com/gallery/iDJKjRz here’s the drawing.
After that day, I didn’t really think about it. Considering it nothing more than a simple nightmare, and that was the end of it. Was it spooky? Damn right it was. But was it something I should be worried about? I didn’t think so. So life went on like normal, nothing strange happening afterwards. That was until December, when I had to visit my dad. You see, when I was young, maybe 10-12 years old, I used to draw monsters. I liked creepypastas and stuff, so drawing disturbing things was a part time of mine. Which ended up in my parents contacting a child psychologist, but that was pretty much all of it. So, when I visited my dad, I decided to look for a folder of old drawings. It was cool, although the drawings were shit. I got a little frustrated since I was unable to find some drawings I was looking for, but my attitude completely changed when I saw one of the pieces of paper in my folder. It was incredibly yellowed, sticking out like a sore thumb in comparison to the other pages. I picked it up, and my body went cold.
https://imgur.com/gallery/IQxPiGQ It, was, him. Based off the way it’s drawn I know it’s one of mine, but I swear on my life I don’t have any memory of drawing this. It had to be from 2018 or 2019, there is no way it’s recent. I thought, maybe I drew it at my sister’s house and just left it with my dad and forgot about it, but no. The style, the age of the paper. I hadn’t touched the folder since 2020, so there is quite literally only one way that drawing would be there. I must have drawn it when I was 10-12, and I must have completely forgotten about it. But I just don’t understand, WHY IS IT HIM!? It’s been half a year, and I still have no idea. But you might wonder, why now? Why am I suddenly thinking about it now? I’m gonna be 17 soon and I’m gonna switch schools, I’ve got enough on my mind. Well… I thought about something that happened to me when I was young. I was visiting my cousin many years ago, and I was sleeping in the guest bedroom. I had a dream, I was on top of a castle, a pair of large castle doors infront of me. They swung open, to reveal my uncle shredding on guitar. I suddenly woke up, and found my uncle standing over my bed pretending to be playing a nonexistent guitar. I did some research, and apparently, some things you hear or feel in the real world can affect what you see and experience in your dreams. But that only makes me wonder… who is that pale man? Why did he appear in two separate dreams? But more importantly… why did I draw him when I was a kid?