I’m a writer by profession, and I often find myself lost in the pages of my own imagination. But what i’m about to share is no work of fiction. This is an account of what happened to me, and it’s something that still is haunting me to this day.
It was a dark and gloomy night. I had just finished my latest novel and was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. I live alone in a remote cabin in the woods, and the isolation can be both a blessing and a curse. As the rain lashed against the windowpanes, I settled into bed and closed my eyes.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I heard footsteps outside my door and froze. I tried to convince myself that it was just the wind, but the footsteps grew louder and more insistent. And then, without warning, the door burst open.
I jumped out of bed, ready to defend myself, but what I saw made my blood run cold. A figure stood in the doorway, dressed in a long black cloak with a hood pulled over their face. They held a long, sharp knife in one hand and a burlap sack in the other.
Before I could even scream, they lunged at me with the knife. I dodged out of the way and ran for the door, but they caught up to me in no time. They grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back, slicing the knife across my arm.
I fell to the ground, clutching my bleeding arm, and watched as they threw the burlap sack over my head. I struggled and fought, but it was no use. They were too strong for me. They picked me up and threw me over their shoulder, carrying me out into the rain.
I could hear the sound of running water, and then we were at the edge of a cliff. I tried to scream, but the burlap sack muffled my cries. The figure pushed me off the edge, and I plummeted into the raging river below.
I thought it was the end for me. I couldn’t swim, and the water was pulling me under. But then, something strange happened. My body started to glow with a soft, white light. The water around me began to swirl and churn, and then a massive wave lifted me up and carried me downstream.
When I finally washed up on the riverbank, I was battered and bruised but alive. I stumbled back to my cabin, but it wasn’t the same. The whole place felt haunted, as if the figure who had attacked me was still lurking in the shadows.
I tried to forget about it, but I couldn’t. I started seeing strange things, like the knife I had fought so hard to get away from suddenly appearing on my kitchen counter, or the burlap sack reappearing in my bedroom.
And then, one night, I saw the figure again. It was standing at the end of my bed, its hood still obscuring its face. It held out its hand, and in it was a piece of paper with a single message scrawled on it: “I’m not done with you yet.”
I don’t know what it wants from me, but I’m terrified. I feel like I’m living in a horror movie, and I don’t know how to escape. Every night, I go to bed with the knowledge that the figure could return at any moment, and I don’t know if I’ll survive the next encounter.
I’m posting this online because I need help. If anyone out there knows what this figure wants from me, or has experienced something similar, please reach out to me. I can’t keep living like this.