The Cold Spot at Bedtime

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the supernatural. I devoured every book on ghosts and demons, and I’d pester my grandmother for her stories about the old country. But I never thought I’d actually experience something. It started when I was thirteen, and we moved into a creaky old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I had to share a room with my younger brother, Sam, because the house only had two bedrooms, and the other one was my parents’. I had the bed by the window, and Sam had the one by the door. The first night, I couldn’t sleep. The house made these groaning sounds, like it was settling, but it felt wrong. It was like the house was breathing, and I was trapped in its lungs. I lay there, heart pounding, listening to Sam’s soft snoring. Then I felt it: a cold spot, right at the foot of my bed. It wasn’t a draft; it was a pocket of freezing air that seemed to suck the warmth out of the room. I pulled the covers up to my chin, but the cold crept up my legs, making my teeth chatter. I wanted to call out to my parents, but my voice was stuck in my throat. Then I heard it, a voice, deep and gravelly, right by my ear. It said my name, ‘Ellie.’ I jolted upright, and the cold vanished. The room was silent. Sam was still asleep, and the window was closed. I told my mom the next morning, and she said it was just my imagination, that old houses play tricks on you. But that was just the beginning.

A few weeks later, it was Sam’s turn. He came down to breakfast looking pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He said he’d had a nightmare, but that wasn’t the truth. He told me later, in private, that he’d woken up in the middle of the night to see a woman standing in the corner. He described her as tall, with long black hair that hid her face, and she wore a tattered white dress. He said she just stood there, not moving, and the room was freezing. He tried to shout, but no sound came out. And then she was gone, like she’d melted into the wall. When he told me, I felt a chill run down my spine. I knew he wasn’t lying. My own experience had been different, but it was the same presence. The house was definitely haunted.

My mom started having her own encounters about a month later. She’s a heavy sleeper, but one night she woke up suddenly because she felt like someone was watching her. She said she opened her eyes and saw a figure at the foot of her bed, but it wasn’t the woman. It was a shadow, solid and black, like a silhouette cut from the darkness. It had no face, but it seemed to be staring at her. She screamed, and my dad woke up and turned on the light, but there was nothing there. My dad, who is the most rational person I know, was shaken. He said he felt a presence too, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. He’s never believed in ghosts, but after that, he started sleeping with the lights on.

Then it was my sister’s turn. She was the youngest, only six, and she shared a room with us for a while. One night, she started crying in her sleep, and when we woke her, she said that a man with a long beard had been sitting on her bed, humming a song she didn’t know. She said he had kind eyes but a cold smile. That freaked us all out. We tried to convince her it was a dream, but she described the same woman I had seen. She said the man was next to her, and the woman was in the corner, and they were both watching her. That was too much for my parents. We moved out of that house within a month.

But here’s the thing: the experiences didn’t stop. They followed us. We thought we’d left them behind, but they came with us to the new house, the apartment, everywhere. And now, it’s not just the four of us. My cousin, who stayed with us last summer, saw the same woman in his room. My best friend, who slept over, woke up with scratches on his arm. It’s like we’re carrying something with us, a curse or a ghost that latched onto our family. And the worst part is, the experiences are always different. I hear my name. Sam saw the woman. Mom saw the shadow. My sister saw a man. It’s like the ghost is toying with us, showing us what it wants. I don’t know what it wants, but I’m terrified. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s waiting for something, and one day, it will step out of the darkness and into our world, and we’ll be ready. I just hope we can find out what it wants before it’s too late.