Hi. I’ve seen a lot of stories on here, and I don’t know if mine even fits in. But I need to tell someone.
I’m a 25 year old university student. I won’t disclose my location, for privacy reasons, but just know I live in a large, European city.
I’m working towards a postgraduate degree in English. My school has very limited accommodation, so I don’t live on site; I have a small-ish studio apartment flat in the outskirts of my city. It’s a pretty long journey from my home to campus.
Almost every night, I stay late, studying in my University library. Almost every night, I make the walk home in the dark.
Once I’ve left the campus, my route takes me through the nearby park, until I reach the canal. I then walk along a footpath, following the canal for half an hour or so, before turning into suburban streets. Another 15 minute walk takes me to a train station, where I catch a night train to my home area.
I’m only describing my nightly journey to you because it is important to my story.
The night has never bothered me; in fact, I like walking on my own when it is late and nobody else is around. It has always calmed me, and given me space to think. I enjoy my own company.
Thursday last week was like any other evening; I reluctantly finished up working in the library, and, rubbing my tired eyes, packed up my things. I remember glancing at my watch and seeing the time; a little past 10 PM.
Leaving the building, I made my way across the lawn which forms the central courtyard of my campus. Large floodlights illuminate the entire area; they are brilliantly bright, almost blinding. Reaching the main gates of the university, I turned, following a small road, enclosed with trees.
The University is situated next to a park; at this time of year, it is a lovely stretch of green during the day; however, it would be almost untraversable at night if not for the streetlights which line the paths. That is how dark it grows here past twilight; on either side of me, as I walked, there was simply a thick wall of blackness, with only the path ahead of me lit up.
Every time I walk through the park, I always have the same uncomfortable thought. I always wonder about how someone could be standing only a few metres away from me, in the shrubbery, and I would have no idea; my own hand begins to disappear when I stretch it out past the border where the path meets the grass. It makes me shiver a little every time, imagine my invisible stalker, shrouded by the night.
Reaching the south fence of the park, I turned onto the canal; a small road follows along its length. The water is a murky green, with scum and algae coating the surface. The moon casts a shimmering, ghostly reflection onto the dark depths of the waterway.
So there I found myself, last Thursday night, walking along next to the canal. Stupidly, I had forgotten to charge my phone before I left the library; wanting to conserve the already low battery. I was not listening to music as I usually would.
I listened to the sounds of the night as I walked. To my one side, the water; to my other, thick, densely packed trees, branches so closely ensnared that they created a natural fence. Somewhere, an owl hooted.
As I said before, the walk along the canal is about half an hour, give or take. I had been walking for roughly half that, when I noticed it in front of me.
Way down, far away along the footpath, almost out of my range of vision, was a black shape.
At first, I was more curious than anything. The shape was squat, and low, and sticking out at irregular angles.
I drew closer, squinting to make it out in the darkness, until I was close enough to see.
It was a man. He was sitting cross legged, directly - almost perfectly - in the centre of the path.
A feeling of unease immediately washed over me. Probably, he was a homeless person; there are a lot in my city. But why was he sat like that, out in the open, almost calmly?
I should say now that I am a big guy; and I have never shied away from confrontation if it is needed. While this man was making me a little on edge, I still felt pretty confident in my safety. If anything, I assumed him to be completely off his head from drugs or alcohol, causing him to pass out like this in the street.
I was soon close enough to clearly see him. A chill washed over me, and my earlier relative calmness was replaced by anxiety.
The man was dressed from head to toe in business attire. His trousers were charcoal grey, pressed and smooth. His shirt was a pure cream colour, expensive looking, and his black suit jacket appeared crisp, as if recently ironed. His tie was neat, not too long, not too short, a simple knot. Even his shoes were freshly polished, reflecting the full moon above. On his wrist was a gold watch; it looked like a Rolex.
His build was hard to make out from his cross legged seated position, but he looked skinny. His skin was pale, standing out the darkness.
His hair was jet black, and had been slicked back sharply backwards across his head and down his neck. There was far too much gel in his hair; it clogged his scalp like glue, glistening in the moonlight.
All of this caught my attention, and set me aback; but it is not what made me afraid.
I was afraid because of how he looked at me.
He was smiling. Not a gigantic, manic, horror-villain grin. His smile, was small, and subtle, like he was trying to keep from laughing. It was predatory; in the slight gap between his lips, his teeth winked at me.
His eyes were locked with mine. His gaze was impossible to break away from, and I trembled under it. He had hungry eyes, cold and cunning. He stared at me like a crocodile stares at its next meal.
As I drew up on him, I slowed down, my mind racing.
Should I stop? Say something? Ignore him?
I went with the last option. Trying to avoid looking at the strange, eerie figure, I made a beeline for the path beyond him, breathing fast.
Even as I moved past him, I felt those reptilian eyes track me, never blinking. I stole a glance down at him. He licked his lips.
I found myself even more tormented by nerves once I was a little away from him. I forced myself not to look back, terrified of feeling breath on the back of my neck, or a hand on my shoulder.
‘There are always weird people around at night.’ I thought to myself, desperately trying to calm down.
‘You’ll laugh about this tomorrow morning.’
I tried to inject myself with some macho, tough-guy courage. Rationally, the guy didn’t look that big. I could probably take him if he tried anything. But then I thought back to those eyes, and that smile, and I wasn’t so sure.
After what felt like an eternity, up ahead, I saw the dim lights of houses. I would be at the train station in no time, and then I could forget all about the sinister, suited man.
Feeling relief wash over me at the prospect of safety, I turned back, hoping to see the man gone.
I gasped in horror.
He was standing now, revealing his true, imposing height; six foot five at least.
His mouth was agape, jaw hanging slack and loose, chin almost against his neck. His gullet formed a black O, as dark as the icy waters of the canal beside us, or the starless sky above.
As I stood, rooted to the spot, a strange noise came up out of his throat, echoing through the night.
A low groan, guttural and croaking, like a floorboard creaking, or nails on a blackboard. It was shockingly loud, sounding as if he was tearing his larynx apart just to produce such an unnatural moan.
I stumbled backwards, tripping and slipping on the muddy ground. With alarming speed, the man crouched on to all fours, bony limbs jutting out from his thin torso like some kind of grotesque insect.
He began to scuttle towards me like a spider, galloping on his hands and feet with animalistic momentum.
Forcing my legs to work, I turned and ran, sprinting off the footpath and down a suburban street, away from the canal.
Terraced houses flashed past me on either side, windows mostly dark. Looking back, I should have called for help; I should have stopped and knocked on one of the doors and screamed for sanctuary. But in the moment, all I could think about was the thing behind me. I could still hear that creaking groan ringing in my ears.
I raced into the next street, then turned into a third. Ahead, I could see the station; it was small at the best of times, and completely deserted at this hour. Even the staff (a single station supervisor and a ticket inspector) would have gone home by now.
To my despair, I heard the tell tale screech of a train pulling into the station. If I did not make it, there would not be another for ten minutes at least. Pushing myself, panting, I bounded up the steps two or three at a time. I almost leapt over the turnstile, shoving past it; reaching the train, I threw myself onto it.
Not allowing myself to rest, I immediately pressed myself to the window, willing the doors to close and the train to move. At the same time, I scanned the street below the railway bridge, watching in terror for a bony, scuttling figure. But I saw nothing.
I collapsed onto a seat as the doors closed, and the train pulled away from the platform. My eyes were glued shut, and I fought for air.
Regaining myself, I reached for my phone. It was dead. I swore loudly.
Still, I tried to console myself; I was safe at least. I would get home and call the police there.
I sat back and tried to relax as best as I could under the circumstances; I stared outside and watched the darkened city roll past.
I had a few stops to go before my own, and so I resigned myself to try to sleep. The train was always empty at this time.
No sooner had I closed my eyes than did I hear a sound which turned my body to ice, and sent my hands into convulsing shakes.
A deep, rasping, guttural groan from a few seats behind me.
Instinctively, I whirled around, at first seeing nothing.
Then, four rows behind me, between the gap in the seats, I saw his face. Peeking at me. Grinning. That same, hungry, crocodilian gaze.
From here, I could see a stringy blob of hair gel oozing down his pale forehead. He was smiling a little wider than before, and I could see how yellow his teeth were. There was a small spattering of dark crimson around the edges of his gums.
I fell out of my seat, hyperventilating. He could have stood up, loomed over me; but instead, the man mimicked me, dropping from his own seat and on to his hands and knees. Agonizingly slowly, he began to crawl towards me. His movements were exaggerated, like a child, or a circus clown; he made his way through the carriage, still letting out that horrible, sickening moaning sound.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as fight or flight kicked in. Like I said, I’ve always been willing to defend myself; but again, something in his eyes told me to run instead. I got to my feet and yanked open the small door which connected my carriage to the next and ran through, slamming the door behind me. I raced through this compartment too, whacking into the seats on either side of me in my haste. I sprinted into the next carriage, and the next; my stomach dropped each time I heard the doors being opened behind me.
Suddenly, I was thrown off my feet as the train rolled to a halt. I slid along the floor, slamming into the wall just as the train doors opened. Spotting my last chance at escape, I leapt for the open doors, rolling on to the platform outside and smacking my head on the concrete.
I staggered backwards still, gripping my throbbing head. I watched as the train doors slid shut again; there was no sign of my pursuer.
I continued to stare as the train pulled away, fading into the night, leaving me alone in the cold. I franticly scanned to my left and right, either end of the platform, not believing my nightmare was truly over. But there really was no sign of the man anywhere. The night was empty.
I realised that I had no idea where I was; this wasn’t the right stop. Slowly, I made my way off the platform and down the stairs, my head turning on a swivel to check behind me. I felt anything but safe.
I left the station in a daze. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my chest; the sound of it beating filled my mind.
Up ahead, I could see the neon lights of an all night convenience store. I began to increase my pace; I could feel warm blood seeping from my head, and I thought if I tried to run I might pass out.
I seemed to enter the store in slow-motion, slipping in and out of consciousness. I remember the man at the counter looking at me with concern as I fell against a shelf of crisp packets.
I asked him if I could use his phone, and he asked me if I was alright.
I said no, I wasn’t, and that I needed him to call the police for me. Then I let myself fade to black, right there on the floor of the shop.
The next day was a blur. When the police arrived, they seemed more concerned with getting me to the emergency room than with listening to my garbled story. I had a pretty severe concussion, so, by the time an officer sat down to listen to what I had to say, they chalked it up to an encounter with a drunk, warped by my head injury.
I was discharged and told to rest. I took a few days off. I hated being at home; all I could think about was what happened. I tried to put it out of my mind, but every night I woke up screaming. My dreams are haunted by a grinning figure in an expensive suit.
I barely eat; I have to force myself. I find my hands shaking without even realising, and I have taken to biting my nails until they bleed. When I look in the mirror, I see a thin stranger with dark circles under his eyes.
I tried going back to university, but my anxiety only got worse. I checked behind me every few minutes, and around corners. When someone called my name, I would jump. I couldn’t focus in lectures, and I kept falling asleep due to my nights spent awake, huddled in the corner of my room with the door locked.
I decided to write this here, partly as away to process my experience, and partly because I am scared, and I need someone to know.
Yesterday, as I ate lunch on my own, my cell phone rang. When I answered, I screamed out loud, and broke down sobbing in the middle of the campus cafeteria.
I think you can guess the noise which greeted me on the other end.
So I no longer walk alone at night.
But now, those dark, shadowy streets are starting to look inviting.
Because you see, my phone rang six more times yesterday. I ignored it
And every one of the calls was made from my own landline phone, which sits beside my bed.