I blinked and glanced around

March 2, 2025

by Sarina

3 min read

Story Premise 3 min read (427 words)

"The first time I saw it, I was ten years old. I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, feeling like something was pressing down on my chest. The air was thick and heavy, like the whole room had shrunk. I blinked and glanced around—and that’s when I saw it. A […]"

The first time I saw it, I was ten years old. I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, feeling like something was pressing down on my chest. The air was thick and heavy, like the whole room had shrunk.

I blinked and glanced around—and that’s when I saw it.

A hooded figure was crouched at the foot of my bed.

My breath hitched. I wanted to scream, but my throat locked up. I didn’t dare move. The only thing I could do was pull my blanket up and peek through a tiny gap.

The figure didn’t move, but I felt it watching me.

And then, I noticed something even worse.

Across the room, on the other bed, something was glowing—a pale blue light, flickering like a dying candle. A shape lay there, curled up, its back facing me. It looked… human, but not alive.

I squeezed my eyes shut, whispered a prayer, and forced myself to turn away. Somehow, I drifted back to sleep.

When I woke up, my body ached, like I had spent the whole night fighting something. I told myself it was just a dream. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t.

The Second Time

I was thirteen when I saw it again.

It was morning, around eight, and the house was already heating up. I had been sleeping on the couch in the living room, where it was cooler. The sun was shining through the window, bright and warm.

But then—I felt it.

That same thick, heavy air. That same feeling of something watching me.

I cracked one eye open.

And there it was.

A tall shadow, standing near the hallway. No face. No features. Just dark, unmoving.

I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep. Maybe if I ignored it, it would go away.

But I couldn’t resist.

I peeked again.

It was closer.

My body locked up in fear. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. But I had to know. I had to see it for real.

I turned my head—and it was gone.

When I told my parents, they brushed it off. “Bad dream,” they said. “Just your imagination.”

But I knew the truth.

I’ve had more encounters since then. Shadows in the corners. Whispers when no one’s there. Cold spots in warm rooms.

Now, at nineteen, I tell myself it’s over. Maybe I outgrew it. Maybe it got bored of me.

But sometimes, late at night, I still feel it.

Watching.

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