Emily

One day, my dad told us we found a new place in a different town. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours. As we packed up what little we had, I couldn't help but reflect on the farmhouse and all that had happened there. I wanted to forget it, but I knew I never would. Some things just stick with you no matter how fast you run. I can still remember that nightmare very distinctly, even years later.

It was not merely a fear of darkness or some wild imagination of a child. On the contrary, it has left something more real, more deep inside the corridors of my mind. I was six years old, sharing a small, cramped bedroom with my twin sister, Sarah. Our bunk bed was pushed up directly against the window that faced into the dense woods behind our neighbor's yard.

It was not merely a fear of darkness or some wild imagination of a child. On the contrary, it has left something more real, more deep inside the corridors of my mind. I was six years old, sharing a small, cramped bedroom with my twin sister, Sarah. Our bunk bed was pushed up directly against the window that faced into the dense woods behind our neighbor's yard.

Those woods were always like an endless shadow, dark and mysterious. Even in the daytime, something about them was unsettling. But that night, it felt like something crawled out of that darkness, something malevolent.

Those woods were always like an endless shadow, dark and mysterious. Even in the daytime, something about them was unsettling. But that night, it felt like something crawled out of that darkness, something malevolent.

i remember lying in bed and looking out at the sky it was not the soft blue of night nor even a deep purple of twilight it was red an unnatural bloody red that made me feel very uncomfortable I tried to close my eyes, tried to force myself to sleep, but I couldn't take the feeling that something was watching. That's when I saw him.

i remember lying in bed and looking out at the sky it was not the soft blue of night nor even a deep purple of twilight it was red an unnatural bloody red that made me feel very uncomfortable I tried to close my eyes, tried to force myself to sleep, but I couldn't take the feeling that something was watching. That's when I saw him.

A pale, moon-like, bald head slowly came into view from the bottom of the window. My breath caught in my throat, and I could not move. The man's eyes were aglow with yellow, unnaturally bright, like a cat's eyes reflecting light. Only there was no light. He grinned at me. a sinister smile that seemed to stretch too wide for his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

A pale, moon-like, bald head slowly came into view from the bottom of the window. My breath caught in my throat, and I could not move. The man's eyes were aglow with yellow, unnaturally bright, like a cat's eyes reflecting light. Only there was no light. He grinned at me. a sinister smile that seemed to stretch too wide for his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. My throat felt tight, my body frozen. The man lifted a hand, fingers long and thin, with each ending in a jagged, claw-like fingernail. He began to tap on the window, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. Tap, tap, tap. It was almost as if he was attempting to hypnotize me, each tap drawing me deeper into fear.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. My throat felt tight, my body frozen. The man lifted a hand, fingers long and thin, with each ending in a jagged, claw-like fingernail. He began to tap on the window, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. Tap, tap, tap. It was almost as if he was attempting to hypnotize me, each tap drawing me deeper into fear.

His eyes did not leave mine and I felt doused by those glowing orbs paralyzed by the malice they held. Somewhere deep in me, I found the ability to scream. It tore out of me, raw and terrified, filling the small room. Everything after that is a blur. I remember Sarah waking up, pale with confusion and fear etched on her face.

His eyes did not leave mine and I felt doused by those glowing orbs paralyzed by the malice they held. Somewhere deep in me, I found the ability to scream. It tore out of me, raw and terrified, filling the small room. Everything after that is a blur. I remember Sarah waking up, pale with confusion and fear etched on her face.

I remember our mother bursting into the room, eyes wide with panic, as she pulled both of us into her arms. She kept asking what was wrong, but all I could do was point out the window. I had lost my voice to silent sobs. When my mother looked, there was no man. The window was empty, the dark woods swaying gently in the wind beyond.

I remember our mother bursting into the room, eyes wide with panic, as she pulled both of us into her arms. She kept asking what was wrong, but all I could do was point out the window. I had lost my voice to silent sobs. When my mother looked, there was no man. The window was empty, the dark woods swaying gently in the wind beyond.

She held us close and rocked us back and forth, telling us it was only a nightmare. But I knew better. I knew what I saw. Years later, I was telling this nightmare to my brother Mark and Sarah in a hotel room. I fully expected both of them to burst out laughing over my story, telling me it was just some silly imagination of a child. Instead, my brother looked at me, his face turning serious.

She held us close and rocked us back and forth, telling us it was only a nightmare. But I knew better. I knew what I saw. Years later, I was telling this nightmare to my brother Mark and Sarah in a hotel room. I fully expected both of them to burst out laughing over my story, telling me it was just some silly imagination of a child. Instead, my brother looked at me, his face turning serious.

He told me it wasn't a nightmare, it was real. The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice as he spoke, recounting details that I had long buried, things I had never known. The man wasn't a figment of my imagination. He was real. For weeks he had followed Sarah home, lurking in his rusted-out van, always keeping his distance but always watching.

He told me it wasn't a nightmare, it was real. The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice as he spoke, recounting details that I had long buried, things I had never known. The man wasn't a figment of my imagination. He was real. For weeks he had followed Sarah home, lurking in his rusted-out van, always keeping his distance but always watching.

That night, he had tried to break into her room first. Mark remembered waking up to Sarah's scream, our father running down the hall with an old baseball bat. The man had fled, but he wasn't done. He had come to my window next. It hit me like a punch to the gut. Whatever had haunted me all these years wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory.