Stories

The Watcher

Day 1:

One dark summer night I found myself scrolling around YouTube to find something to watch. Admittedly, this had been the most exciting thing that’s happened all day. But, it was also nice to have a lazy Sunday. I glanced at the clock for what was probably for the millionth time today and saw it read about ten thirty-three or so. I sighed and refreshed the page. It was odd... I felt like I was going in and out of reality, like nothing was real anymore. But just like that, the feeling faded. I shook my head and looped the song I’d chosen, setting my laptop down onto the floor next to the couch I was lying on. I shifted over to my right side and adjusted myself to where I was finally comfy. Closing my eyes, I just... thought. A little about this and a little about that I guess. Just nothing in particular. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I got this kind of unnerving feeling. I don’t know how to describe it really- I didn’t even know what it meant. But... this feeling told me to look. As to where, I didn’t know. I tried to ignore it, but eventually curiosity got the better of me. I raised my head and turned to look at the kitchen as my original plan was to turn over and face the side of the couch, but my eyes focused on something else. Or rather, someone else. A man made of shadows, of smoke, or something else that I couldn’t name, was leaning against the handle to the oven. I froze, seemingly unable to blink, to look away. The fact that I knew that the house was locked up didn’t help. Neither did the feeling that he was looking at me. Whatever he was made of was black, kind of see through, and wavered in the single light that shone in the kitchen. I couldn’t move, my mind was blank. And yet... something told me to go upstairs. Again, this vague kind of feeling, but oddly enough, I think it came from the guy. I really do. I finally managed to break my gaze and looked away to the other side of the kitchen for a second, then looked back to where he stood. Only to find that he was gone. Oh fuck no. I’m not staying down here any longer. I scrambled to stand up and pause my music, collecting the various things I had brought down to the main floor during the day. I ripped the headphones off my head and hastily made my way upstairs, careful to be quiet. Throughout this, my parents were still asleep, and would probably kill me if I woke the dog. As soon as I shut my bedroom door, I felt... safe. Protected. But... it also felt like I’d just escaped something hostile too. Something was downstairs, and it was not happy I went upstairs. So... the guy was right? Was he really trying to save me from something? I’m not sure, and even when writing this I’m still unsure. I’ve never done drugs a day in my life, nor had I eaten anything funny, so that left me at a bit of a loss. I’ll wait for a few days and see what happens though, and hopefully I can find some clarity somewhere.

Day 2:

I’ve been on edge all day. Something about the guy appearing in my kitchen last night and the fact I think he was trying to tell me to go upstairs can really freak someone out, you know? Not to mention there was something else that wanted me, though I’m not sure why or even what it was. Anyways, I had plans to hang out with a few friends today and for a while, I’d forgotten what’d happened. That was until it became dark, and my mother had told me she was going upstairs. She’d asked for me to lock up the house, and I agreed, under the fact that I was heading up too. She seemed surprised nonetheless, as it was unusual for me to want to go upstairs so soon. But, I refused to tell her why. She didn’t question it really, and I was grateful for it, as, I didn’t want a repeat of last night. And if it was a repeat, who could say it wouldn’t be worse than the first time? With that in mind, I rushed to my room and shut the door behind me, making it up the seemingly endless staircase in record time. My heart was racing and I had adrenaline coursing through my body from fear. I got under the covers and curled into a ball, my back facing the wall my bed stood against. I put a song on loop and tried to calm myself. Sometime later I slipped into my pj’s. My mind began to wander and I began to think about anything and nothing really. Sometimes I drift into a different world of my own creation, then somehow connect it to something that’s happened lately and think about real life. But do you know what happened that brought me out of my thoughts? Someone hit their head against my back, like out of exhaustion- right where my heart would’ve been if I was facing the other way. This motion caused me to jerk forward involuntarily and I froze in the spot. I didn’t dare move a muscle. When nothing else happened, I jabbed an elbow in the direction of my wall, feeling nothing. I half turned over and saw there wasn’t enough room for another body to fit between me and the wall, nevermind rear their head back and hit me. Now I know what you’re probably thinking. I just have a few mental health issues that cause me to hallucinate or something and I’m so scared I’m writing them here. But I need to stress this to you, dear reader, I’m perfectly fine. Not once in my life have I been diagnosed with something like that by anyone of varying medical degree. No... this has something to do with insanity.

Day 3:

It’s been a little over a week since I dared touch this writing. And in that week, I’ve gone on a trip with my mother. We only got back yesterday. During that time and through all of this, I’ve only told my aunt about what’s happened. Some of you might be asking why I would tell someone who lives so far away. Well, she’s been mentally unstable like I have before and I wondered if she experienced something like this before. Needless to say, she began to question my sanity as well. I told her other stories as well, some I may or may not share with you. Apparently I’m a good storyteller, because when her phone rang a second after I finished one, she actually jumped. And why I don’t tell my parents? Because they’re drunken bastards half the time and don’t notice what I do the other half. Well, either they don’t notice, or they’re really picky about what I do, my mum especially. But no matter, that is not what I’m trying to get across. Let me emphasize this to you, my dear reader. Know how you’re reading this, right now? It’s real, correct? And the words I write on this page are real, correct? Then let me ask you, the story I’ve written is real, correct? That “Yes” is not just figurative reader. That “Yes” is literal. What has happened to me is real. I know what you might think. ‘This is just an author trying to make a good horror story for a bunch of readers.’ And I’ll tell you now, that was the original intent. But then this happened, along with a few other... experiences. And I might be going insane, but I became so desperate to give this an outlet that I turned to my passion. So tell me, reader, do you believe me yet?

D̸̦͖̣̂̋̓̉̔̀̎̀͠â̷̧͉͔̯͑̅͐͋̕ỷ̴̱̟̥̦̮̳͜ͅ ̴̢̧̧͕̣̘͕̯̞̠͋͛̄͒̌͜4̴͖̳̗͛͛̉̓̿͂̅̋͋̎̈̋:̶̬̖̫̲̟̲͉̩̮̹͉̄̕

I̵̧͉͕̞͓̱̬͈̲̮͎̱̙͉͖̊̍̃̋̿̂͒͠.̸̢̛̲̲͚̯̠̜͚͊̂̈́́̑̄̆̉̚ ̸̨̥͉̠̪̬̭̫͇̘͆̌̌̾͋̀̉̒͌͆̈C̶̛̪̗̬͈̦̰̮͍͈̱͐̋̆̊̅̓a̸̢̯̤̲͔͕̭̞̾̇̎̿̎́͌̌̌́̕͜͜ư̷̰͇̩̫̟̭̺̥̄̕͜ǧ̴̛͉͙̔͂̏̚͝͝ḫ̴̛̄̇͛̋͊̌̾̈́̈̍̅̂̚̕t̸̢̰̼͓̰̼͓͇̬̩̙̳̥̾̌́̌̌̿ͅ.̷̳͈͚̘͇͋̄̾͐̀́̀͐͊̋̒̽͝ ̶̫͇̿͌̎́͠Y̶͙͔̙̱̤̭̖̬̯̒̀̒̿̀͑̀̂̊̄͑̂̾̚̕ǫ̷̟̰̪̟̠͇̥̖͎̼͗̿͜ȗ̷̜͍̺̰̱̹̤̫̲͔͂̈́̄͂̓͌̈́̀̄͘.̷͚͎͙̻̱̐̇