Never Astral Project At Midnight You’ll Regret It

If I’d known where my curiosity would lead me, I might have burned my science assignment right then and there. But I didn’t. I’m Maci Hughes, a regular 13-year-old girl—or at least I was until that night. I never thought a simple school project could change my life forever.

It all started with Mrs. Abernathy’s assignment. “Pick a topic that fascinates you,” she said. “Something about the mind or body.” She left it so open-ended that most of my classmates chose the easiest topics possible—dreams, memory, even allergies. But I wanted something different, something that would stand out.

I stumbled across astral projection during my late-night internet rabbit hole. The idea of leaving your body and traveling anywhere intrigued me. Some called it pseudoscience, but others swore it was real. There were claims of ancient monks doing it during meditation and ordinary people experiencing it spontaneously. The thought of floating out of my body, weightless, free… it was too exciting to pass up.

Over the next week, I dived deep into the world of astral projection. I read books, watched videos, and combed through online forums. I found accounts of people visiting faraway places, reuniting with loved ones in dreams, and even experiencing euphoric states. But there were darker stories, too—stories of shadowy figures lurking in the astral plane, of people feeling “trapped” outside their bodies, and of entities trying to take over their empty shells.

Those stories unnerved me, but I didn’t let them stop me. After all, this was just research for a school project. What was the harm in a little curiosity?

The day I turned in my report, I couldn’t stop thinking about astral projection. My project was over, but my curiosity wasn’t. Could I actually do it? What would it feel like?

I decided to find out.

That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I locked my bedroom door and sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop. I found a simple guide titled, “Astral Projection for Beginners.” It listed the steps clearly:

1. Relax your body completely.

2. Focus on your breathing.

3. Visualize yourself floating out of your body.

4. Stay calm, even if you feel strange sensations.

I turned off the lights, laid down, and closed my eyes. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the heater. I followed the instructions, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, letting my body sink deeper into the mattress.

At first, nothing happened. I felt silly, lying there in the dark, imagining myself floating like some kind of ghost. But then I felt it—a strange tingling in my fingers and toes. It spread up my arms and legs, into my chest, until my whole body was buzzing with energy. My heartbeat quickened, but I reminded myself to stay calm.

And then it happened.

A sudden weightlessness overcame me, and I felt myself lift from the bed. It was like being submerged in water, only instead of sinking, I was rising. When I opened my eyes, I gasped.

I was floating above my bed, looking down at myself. My physical body lay there, completely still, my chest rising and falling with each breath.

I didn’t go far that first time. I was too scared. I hovered near the ceiling, staring down at my room, before forcing myself back into my body. The moment I reentered, I sat up, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest.

But I couldn’t stop smiling. I had done it. I had actually done it.

Over the next few nights, I practiced. Each time, it became easier. I learned to control my movements, floating through walls and drifting down hallways. My house at night felt strange and eerie, like a place out of time.

One night, I ventured outside. The cool night air didn’t feel cold to me—it felt like nothing at all. I floated down my street, marveling at how everything seemed both real and surreal, like a dream in high definition.

My experiments grew bolder. I visited my friends’ houses, watching them sleep peacefully. At Lily’s house, I noticed her phone buzzing on her nightstand, her face bathed in its soft glow. I lingered for a moment before leaving her in peace.

But I wasn’t always so kind. One night, I decided to visit Harper, the girl who had made my life miserable at school. She was snoring softly, her expensive bedding wrapped around her like a cocoon. I couldn’t resist. I floated to her dresser, knocked over a stack of makeup palettes, and tugged her blanket off the bed. She woke with a scream, her eyes wide with terror.

I didn’t feel bad. Not at first.

It wasn’t until the fifth or sixth time that I noticed it.

A whisper.

Faint at first, like the rustling of leaves or the distant hum of a television. I ignored it, thinking it was my imagination. But as I traveled farther from my body, the whisper grew louder. It wasn’t words, exactly—just a low, guttural sound that made my skin crawl.

One night, as I floated back to my room, I saw it.

A shadow.

It was standing in the corner of my room, near my body. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, but then it moved. Slowly, deliberately, it stepped closer to my bed, its long, clawed fingers reaching out toward me.

Panic surged through me. I dove back into my body, jolting awake with a scream. My room was empty, but I could still feel its presence, lingering like a bad dream.

The next night, I told myself I wouldn’t astral project. But curiosity got the better of me. I had to know what the shadow was.

That decision was a mistake.

This time, I didn’t wander far. I stayed close to my room, watching for any sign of the shadow. At first, everything seemed normal. But then I saw it again.

It wasn’t in the corner this time. It was standing over my body.

The figure stepped into the dim moonlight filtering through the window, and my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a shadow—it was a creature, a monstrosity more horrifying than anything I’d ever seen in my nightmares.

Its skin was a mottled, slimy gray, glistening faintly as though it were drenched in sweat or coated in something far worse. It had no clothes, no features to suggest it was anything close to human, save for its bipedal stance. Its arms were impossibly long, ending in ghastly fingers—thin and crooked, each tipped with sharp, cracked nails that seemed to vibrate faintly with energy.

Its face…

Two enormous, bulbous yellow eyes dominated its head, glowing faintly in the darkness, their sickly hue piercing through the dim light like twin lanterns. They didn’t blink, didn’t waver, only stared down at my body with a predatory hunger that made my chest tighten.

Below those horrifying eyes, its mouth stretched unnaturally wide, filled with fang-like teeth—rows upon rows of jagged, uneven spikes coated in a thick, blackish-green substance that oozed and dripped down its chin. When it parted its lips to reveal those teeth, the sound of wet, sucking air filled the room.

It looked alive and dead at the same time, like it was barely holding itself together, its slimy skin hanging loosely over a frame that was both skeletal and bloated. as if it were trying to pull something out of me.

“No!” I screamed, lunging toward it.

The creature turned its head, its empty eyes locking onto mine. Its mouth twisted into a grotesque grin, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

“You don’t belong here,” it rasped, its voice like nails on a chalkboard.

I raced toward my body, fear propelling me forward. The creature reached for me, its claws grazing my arm as I slammed back into my body.

I woke up gasping, my heart hammering in my chest. The room was silent, but I could still feel its presence, lurking just out of sight.

I haven’t astral projected since that night. I won’t.

Whatever that creature was, it wanted my body. It was waiting for me to leave it unguarded.

I’ve spent hours reading about the dangers of astral projection, trying to understand what happened. Some say the astral plane is full of spirits, both good and evil. Others believe it’s a gateway to darker realms, places humans were never meant to go.

All I know is this: it’s dangerous. If you ever think about trying it, don’t.

Because you don’t know who—or what—might be waiting for you.