Even now, as I remember this, I get chills.
I grew up in an old house that my grandfather built a long time ago. It wasn’t big, but it had two floors, and my bedroom was upstairs. I was around 10 or 12 when this happened.
One night, I woke up suddenly. I don’t know why—no noise, no dream, just awake. I looked toward the corner of my room near the door.
There it was.
A tall, dark figure stood there, covered in a hood. It had no face—just empty blackness. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t fading in and out. Just standing there, like a person watching me.
Fear locked my body in place. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. I yanked my blanket over my head, shaking under it. I stayed like that for what felt like forever.
When I finally got the courage to peek out—nothing. The corner was empty.
For a while, I thought maybe I imagined it. Until a week later.
My parents had been arguing, and my mom decided to sleep in the guest room upstairs. The next morning, she sat at the table, looking pale. She said, “I saw something in the room last night. A dark figure, standing there.”
My stomach dropped. She had seen the same thing.
Years later, I was watching a ghost show on TV. A woman talked about a black hooded figure, just like the one I saw. That’s when I knew—it wasn’t just in my head. Others had seen it too.
I still think about that night. And I still wonder—what if I see it again?