My Haunting Experience

One morning, I woke from a strange dream. In it, I saw a soft-faced woman searching inside me—like she was looking for something I couldn’t name. I felt a tight, hollow ache in my stomach. When I opened my eyes, I somehow knew she had tried to take something—maybe a piece of me—but I still felt myself whole.

Later that night, before drifting off to sleep, I felt compelled to open my eyes. There, in the dim light, a man sat quietly in a chair beside my bed. He looked old, a simple figure like someone from a past life. I sensed he belonged to the house itself—perhaps he lived below—in the basement, but now he was there, watching me.

Not long after, when I was very young—perhaps four or five—I remember sitting on the couch in a dark room. I looked toward the kitchen doorway and saw a woman in flowing white clothes. She didn’t glow, but I could see her clearly, as if light touched her softly. The memory returned to me at once—it was the same presence I had seen decades later.

I believe that morning’s dream—the woman reaching in me—was connected. She wasn’t far away, nor was she fleeting. She lingered, searching, never fully gone. Even today, I feel her presence sometimes, a reminder that not everything unseen is harmless—or forgotten.