Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 8 True Scary Stories to Make You Sleep with One Eye Open

Episode Date: November 27, 2024

These are 8 True Scary Stories to Make You Sleep with One Eye Open Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:06:39 Story 2 00:12:20 Story 3 00:20:08 Story 4 00:27:45 Story 5 00:37:25 Story 6 00:43:59 Story 7 00:51:58 Story 8 Music by: ► Myuu's channel http://bit.ly/1k1g4ey ►CO.AG Music http://bit.ly/2f9WQpe Thumbnail art: ►Just Creepy Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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Mom was in the living room, her head buried in bills spread across the coffee table, muttering about overdue payments. I finished my dinner alone, the sound of my fork scraping the plate echoing in the stillness. It wasn't strange for me to eat by myself. Mom was always busy,

but something about the silence felt heavier. I rinsed my plate, turned off the kitchen light, and made my way to my room. The hallway stretched before me, dim and shadowed, the faint wind outside rattling the loose panes of glass. I flicked on my bedroom light and closed the door, a small ritual I'd done a thousand times before. My dog Jerry was already curled up in his usual spot on the old rug by my bed.

The room should have felt familiar, comforting even, but that night something felt off. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the way the wind seemed louder, or how the chill from outside seeped through the window frame. I checked the lock on the window, twisting it twice to make sure. Jerry's ears twitched, but he didn't stir. I kicked off my socks, climbed under the covers, and tried to shake the unease pressing on my chest. It took a while, but eventually I drifted off. When I woke up, it was sudden, like a splash of cold water to the face. My heart was pounding, though I didn't know why. The room was bathed in the faint red glow of my alarm clock.

12.03 a.m. I stared at the numbers for a moment trying to figure out what had woken me. The house was still, except for the soft whir of my space heater and the distant creek of the old wood settling. I reached down and patted Jerry, who was snoring softly. That's when I noticed the shadows. They flickered faintly across the curtains, dancing in the pale moonlight. At first, I thought it was the wind, but the way they moved didn't make sense. too deliberate, too steady. My stomach tightened as the unease I'd felt earlier came rushing back.

I told myself not to look. Whatever was out there, it wasn't my problem. But my hand moved on its own, reaching for the edge of the curtain. Slowly, I pulled it aside, just enough to peek out. At first I didn't see anything. The yard was empty, bathed in silvery light. The trees at the edge of the property swayed gently in the wind. Then I saw him.

A man, standing just beyond the tree line. His hood obscured part of his face, but the moonlight caught his features, gaunt, pale, eyes sunken into shadows that didn't belong. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, he just stared. My chest tightened as our eyes met. I stumbled back from the window, my breath catching in my throat. When I dared to look again, he was closer. His face clearer now, lips moving in some silent chant. That's when I ran back to bed.

The morning light didn't bring the relief I thought it would. I barely slept after what I'd seen, and every creak, every whisper of wind outside, had me clutching the covers tighter. When I finally opened my eyes, the pale sunlight streaming through the curtains only reminded me how close he had been. I sat up, Jerry still asleep at the foot of the bed, oblivious to the terror that had unfolded hours earlier. My alarm clock read 7.13 a.m.

I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, my body heavy, my mind clouded. But something gnawed at me, a tugging thought that I couldn't ignore. I crept to the window, careful not to disturb Jerry. The glass felt cold under my fingertips as I pulled the curtain back, squinting against the brightness. The yard looked normal at first glance. The trees swayed gently, and the dew sparkled on the grass. But then I saw them, deep impressions in the earth, footprints. My stomach turned.

They led from the woods to the house, stopping directly beneath my window. I stared at them for a long moment, my mind racing. He had been so close, too close. My heart pounded as I backed away, letting the curtain fall shut. The rest of the morning was a blur. At school, the teacher's voices sounded muffled, like I was underwater. My friends asked if I was feeling okay, but I just nodded and shrugged them off. How could I explain it?

How could I tell them I'd seen a man staring at me in the middle of the night? His face pale and hollow. His eyes empty of anything human. When the final bell rang, I practically sprinted home. The walkback felt different, the usual comfort of the familiar streets replaced by a creeping sense of being watched. Every gust of wind, every passing car made me jump. By the time I reached the house I was sweating, my pulse racing.

I didn't go straight to my room. I couldn't. Instead, I found mom in the kitchen, sorting through the mail. I wanted to tell her, to make her understand, but I couldn't find the words. She barely glanced at me before returning to her stack of envelopes. That night, as the sun set, the unease returned. I made sure every window was locked, every curtain drawn tight. Jerry followed me around the house, his nails clicking against the hardwood. By the time I got to the back door, he was growling. a deep gutteral sound I'd never heard from him before. That's when I saw it. The door was ajar, the chain lock dangling uselessly.

I froze, the blood draining from my face. My trembling hand reached for the knob, and I slammed the door shut, locking it as tightly as I could. When Mom saw my face, she called the police. They searched the yard, the house, the woods, nothing. But as I stood by the back door, my eyes caught something I hadn't noticed before. Scratched into the wood, faint but deliberate, was a single word. Midnight.

My knees buckled as cold terror swept over me. Creepy man outside my window. Let's not meet again. It started like any other morning at the diner. I had just put on my apron when the delivery guy came in with a package. He was wearing the usual courier uniform, nothing special. I signed for it, said thanks, and moved on. There were pancakes to flip and coffee to refill.

The morning rush came and went, and soon I forgot all about him. But later, during the dinner shift, a man sat down at the counter. He looked different from anyone I remembered. He wore a casual jacket, no uniform, and he seemed like just another tired customer. He smiled and said his name was Jared, asking for a coffee and a burger. I didn't think much of it. After all, a lot of people came in every day, and I had a job to do. At first, Jared just wanted to talk about the usual stuff.

How long had I worked here? Did I like it? I answered his questions while I made drinks for the other customers. But then his questions changed. He asked if I had a boyfriend. I nodded, but he kept on talking. He started complimenting my hair, my smile, even the way I walked around the counter. I tried to ignore it, keeping my responses short and polite, hoping he'd get the hint. Then he leaned closer and said he'd come back just to see me.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. He was the delivery guy from the morning. My stomach tightened. He was still smiling, but there was something off about it, something that made me wish he'd just leave. I kept glancing over at the clock, willing time to move faster. Eventually, Jared paid his bill and got up to go. I watched him walk out the door, feeling a wave of relief. But it didn't last.

I stepped into the back and found Megan, my manager, taking a break. I told her about Jared and how he had come back just to see me. She frowned, her eyes narrowing, and told me she'd keep an eye out. It made me feel a little better to know she was there. The evening rush came, and soon the diner was full of the usual noises, plates clattering, people chatting, the sizzle of the grill. I tried to forget about Jared, but every time the door opened, I found myself looking up, half expecting to see him again.

Megan stayed near the counter, and I was grateful for that. When closing time finally came, I started to relax. I wiped down the counter and gathered the last of the dirty dishes. The diner was emptying out, and it was almost peaceful. But as I glanced out the big front window, I saw something that made my breath catch. Jared's car was still there, parked at the edge of the lot. He wasn't inside the diner, but he was out there, somewhere in the dark. It was just me and Megan now.

The diner was quiet, the light's still on, but everything else was dark. I tried to focus on cleaning, but I kept glancing outside, where Jared's car sat at the far end of the parking lot. It felt strange, like he was waiting for something or someone. I hurried to the back, finding Megan near the office. He's still out there, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Megan's eyes widened. She told me not to worry that we could call the police if we needed to. I didn't want to make a big scene, so instead I grabbed my phone and called Ryan, my boyfriend.

I tried to explain what was happening without sounding too scared, but Ryan could tell. He said he was on his way, and I hung up, feeling a little better. Megan told me to wait in the office until Ryan got here. It felt safer in there, away from the windows. I sat down, staring at the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking by slowly. Megan checked on me every few minutes, making sure I was okay, and that helped a little. Finally, I heard the sound of a car pulling into the lot. I got up and peeked out, seeing Ryan's car stopping near the back door.

Megan walked with me to the door, and we stepped outside. Ryan was standing by his car looking around. I pointed toward Jared's car, still parked with the engine running, no headlights. Ryan didn't waste any time. He walked right over to Jared's car, his shoulders stiff, his steps quick. I stayed by the back door, watching. Ryan knocked on the window and Jared rolled it down just a little. They talked, but I couldn't hear what they were saying.

I saw Ryan lean in, his face close to the window, and, Jared shook his head mumbling something. Ryan's voice got louder and I could hear him now. You need to leave. Now. He wasn't asking. Jared hesitated, looking down, then finally put his car in drive. He pulled away slowly at first, then sped up, disappearing into the darkness beyond the parking lot. Ryan turned and walked back to me, his face serious. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. Let's get you home, he said. I nodded. grateful he was here. Megan waved as we got into Ryan's car, and soon we were driving away from the diner. The ride home was quiet. I kept looking out the window, half expecting to see Jared's

car following us, but it never did. When we finally got home, I felt like I could breathe again, but I knew I wouldn't forget this night for a long time. Something about the way Jared had stayed, just waiting in the dark, made it hard to feel safe. I hoped I'd never see him. again. Marvel Television's Wonder Man. An eight-episode series. Now streaming on Disney Plus. A superhero remake.

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I knew this neighborhood. I had walked these streets hundreds of times, but on that night something felt different. I saw him as I turned down Maple Street. The guy in the hoodie may be a hundred feet back. I told myself not to be paranoid. It was probably just another late-night walker. I kept going, trying to shake off the uneasy itch in my mind.

But every time I picked up my pace, he did too. Every time I slowed down, he followed suit, like he was playing some sort of game with me as his target. I decided to test him. I stepped suddenly across the street, hoping he'd keep going straight. But no, he crossed too. Now, my heart was pounding in my heart. chest and I could hear my pulse in my ears. I was trying hard to remain calm, but this friendly

neighborhood now felt like a maze with no way out. I turned down an alley, hoping it would get me closer to home, possibly lose him. The alley was dark with only the faint light from a distant flickering street lamp at the end. My footsteps echoed off the brick walls, and I realized I could hear his too. He was getting closer. I glanced over my shoulder, just a glance, but I saw his face, partially hidden by the hood, his eyes fixed on me. He wasn't just following me. He was focused, like he had a plan. Panic set in. I needed somewhere safe, with people. That's when I saw the laundromat. The lights were on, and I could see somebody inside. I ran inside, trying to act like I belonged there, and grabbed a bottle of detergent from the shelf. The place was practically empty.

An older woman was sleeping in the corner, and the guy at the counter hardly looked up from his phone. I faked looking at the detergent but kept my eyes on the door. He stopped right outside. He stood there, staring through the glass, his face expressionless. My hands were shaking. I ducked down behind a row of washing machines, my heart hammering in my chest. I tried to breathe, to think, but all I could hear were his footsteps as he pushed open the door and walked in. He was slow, deliberate, like he knew I was hiding. I couldn't stay there. I knew it. I had to move. I took a deep breath and bolted, running past the counter and out the door, and back into the night.

I didn't look back, just ran, my feet pounding on the pavement, hoping, praying I could lose him. Corners blurred together in the streets I turned without thinking, only trying to put as much distance between us as possible. When I finally reached my street, I thought maybe I'd lost him. But then I saw him standing at the far end of the block, just waiting. He wasn't out of breath. He wasn't running. He was just there, watching me. It was like he knew precisely where I was headed.

I didn't think. I just ran, fumbling with my keys, throwing open the door, and slamming it shut behind me. I locked it, leaned back against it, trying to catch my breath. I listened, but all I could hear was the silence of the hallway. I dashed to my window, peeking through the curtains, but he was gone. Or maybe he was just out of my line of sight. That night, I didn't sleep. I sat by the window, watching out into the darkness, waiting for any sign of movement.

Every little sound made me jump. My neighborhood, my safe place. It all felt different now. The shadows were longer. the quiet was more threatening. I knew I would never forget that feeling, and I hoped, more than anything, that I would never see him again.

I ran up the stairs to my apartment, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it tight. My hands were shaking still, and it was like I could hardly catch my breath. I leaned back against the door, trying to catch my breath, but my ears strained to hear anything. Footsteps, a knock, anything. The hallway outside was quiet.

Too quiet. I rushed to the window and pulled aside the curtain, looking out onto the street below. It was empty. No sign of him. I tried to tell myself maybe I'd lost him. Maybe he'd given up. But deep inside, I knew he was still out there somewhere. He hadn't chased me like a normal person would. He had just walked, slowly, like he knew I'd end up right where he wanted. I paced back and forth, trying to think of what to do. I thought about calls. I thought about calling the police but couldn't think of what I would say. Just that a guy followed me? He hadn't done anything illegal, hadn't said a word to me. It seemed like they wouldn't take me seriously. I felt trapped. I didn't want to overreact, but I also didn't feel safe. I instinctively reached for

my phone anyway, holding it close, prepared to dial in case I had to. I sat down by the window, keeping watch. Minutes felt like hours, and every little noise outside made me jump. The wind rustling through the trees, the sound of a car passing in the distance, the faint bark of a dog. I continued to wait, praying that I would not see him again. But just as I started to think maybe it was over, I saw movement at the end of the street. There he was, the same hooded guy standing under the streetlight, looking right at my building. He wasn't moving. just standing there. My stomach twisted in knots. He knew where I lived. He knew I was here. It was as if he was waiting for something, or maybe even daring me to come out again.

I ducked down, my heart hammering in my chest. I tried to think of what to do next, but my mind felt frozen. It felt like forever before I looked out again. He was still there, only now he was closer, halfway down the block. He moved slowly toward my building. I could hardly breathe. I picked up my phone and dialed 911, my fingers shaking as I punched in the numbers. I told the operator what was happening, trying to speak, but my voice was shaking.

They said they'd send someone over, but it felt like it was taking forever. I kept looking out the window, watching as he got closer and closer. And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he turned and walked away. He did not run, did not look back, just turned and disappeared into the shadows. The police arrived a few minutes later, but by then,

he was long gone. I told them everything, but they didn't seem hopeful. They said they'd patrol the area, but I could tell they didn't think they'd find him. I didn't sleep at all that night, only keeping watch and waiting at the window, fearful he might come back. The next day I changed my route to work so I would stay in populated areas and was never alone. But even with all those precautionary changes, deep down inside, I knew I would never feel completely safe again. Not after that night. Not knowing he was still out there somewhere, watching.

I don't know who he was or what he wanted, but I hope I never find out. And if he's still out there, I hope he'll stay far, far away, because I don't think I could go through that again. I never liked that shed. even on sunny days it gave me the creeps but on rainy days like that saturday afternoon it was even worse the sky was gray and the light drizzle made everything look darker and gloomier i pulled my hood up and headed towards the far end of the property where the old shed stood hidden away by overgrown bushes and surrounded by muddy grass i had to mow the lawn and unfortunately that meant going into the shed to get the lawn mower The shed was old, with wooden planks that were warped and splintering. The door always creaked loudly, and the hinges were rusted, so just getting in was a challenge.

I fumbled with the key, finally turning the lock and pushing the door open. It groaned as it swung wide, and a musty smell hit me immediately. It smelled worse than usual, like something had been rotting inside. The air felt thick and heavy, and for a second I thought about just closing the door, and pretending I forgot to mow the lawn, but I couldn't do that. I took a step inside, trying to ignore the way the floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Something didn't feel right, though. I could feel it deep in my gut, like an invisible weight pressing down on me.

I paused, my eyes scanning the dark corners of the shed. Then, without really thinking about it, I looked up. My heart stopped. There, lying across the wooden planks that made up the crawl space above, was a man. He was pressed flat against the beams, as if he was trying to blend in with the shadows. His clothes were filthy, covered in stains, and his face was pale, almost ghostly. His eyes were wide open, staring right at me. I could see the dirt smudged on his cheeks, the lines etched into his skin.

He didn't move, didn't blink, he just watched me. And then I saw it, a glint of something metallic in his hand. It was a knife. I felt like my whole body had turned to ice. I knew I couldn't let him know that I'd seen him. If I showed any fear, if I made any sudden moves, who knew what he would do? I forced myself to look away, my eyes dropping to the lawnmower. My hands were shaking, but I reached out and grabbed the handle.

I tried to act normal, like everything was fine, but my heart was pounding so hard. I thought he might hear it. I turned slowly, pulling the lawnmower with me. Step by step I moved towards the door. I could still feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It felt like it took forever to get to the door, but finally, I was outside. The moment I was clear, I pulled the door shut behind me, and then I ran. I ran as fast as I could, my feet slipping on the wet grass, my breath coming in short gasps.

I didn't stop until I reached my apartment. I burst through the door, startling my mom. I grabbed the phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed 911. I tried to keep my voice steady as I explained what had happened, but the fear was still there, making my words come out shaky. The dispatcher said they'd send someone right away, and all I could do was wait, staring out the window towards the shed,

wondering if the man was still in there, wondering if he knew I had called the police. It felt like forever, but finally I saw the police car pull up. Two officers got out, and I watched as they made their way towards the shed. I held my breath as they opened the door and went inside. I couldn't see anything, but I heard a shout, then a loud crash. My stomach twisted with fear. What if he tried to fight them?

What if he got away? A few minutes later, the officers came out, and they weren't alone. They had the man in handcuffs. His face was twisted in anger, his clothes even dirtier up close, and I saw the knife one of the officers was holding. It was long and rusted, and just seeing it made my skin crawl. I watched as they put him in the back of the police car, and only then did I feel like I could breathe again. But even as the car drove away, I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me, the way he had just been lying there, waiting. I knew I'd never feel safe near that shed again.

after the police took the man away, I thought the worst was over. I really wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that I could forget about what had happened. But it wasn't that simple. That night I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his face, those cold, empty eyes staring down at me. I couldn't stop thinking about how long he might have been hiding in the shed,

watching me without me knowing. It made my skin crawl just to think about it. The next morning, I was still on edge. My mom tried to reassure me, saying the police had taken care of everything, but I could tell she was worried too. She offered to call in and tell my boss that I couldn't work for a few days, but I shook my head. I didn't want to stay cooped up in the apartment, jumping at every noise.

I needed to feel normal again, even if it was just for a little while. Later that day, there was a knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat, but when I peeked through the window, I saw it was one of the police officers from yesterday. I opened the door, and he gave me a small, reassuring smile. Hey, kid, he said. Just wanted to let you know everything's going to be all right. We found some more things in the shed that might help us figure out what this guy was up to.

My stomach twisted again. What kind of things? I asked. My voice barely above. of a whisper. The officer hesitated for a moment, then said, It looks like he'd been hiding out there for a while. We found some old blankets, empty cans, and a few other things. He had a setup, like he'd been living in that crawl space for weeks, maybe even longer.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep the fear from showing on my face. The thought of him living there, of him watching us all that time, it was too much. The officer must have noticed because he added quix. We're going to make sure he doesn't come back. He's not going to bother you again. I nodded, but it didn't do much to make me feel better. After the officer left, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I kept picturing him up there, waiting in the dark.

What if he had been planning something? What if I hadn't looked up in time? The questions swirled around in my head, making it impossible to focus on anything else. That evening, my mom and I made a decision. We couldn't stay here anymore. We packed up our things, deciding to leave the apartment and stay with my aunt for a while. As we loaded the car, I glanced towards the shed one last time.

It looked empty, but I still felt like he was there, hiding in the shadows, just out of sight. I shivered and turned away, hoping I'd never have to see that place again. We drove away that night, and even though I knew we were putting distance between us and the shed, I still felt like his eyes were on me. I don't think I'll ever forget the feeling of being watched, the cold, heavy stare of the man in the shadows. And I knew one thing for sure. I never wanted to meet him again.

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This look is dedicated to you. Thank you. Thank you. It was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing evening, a simple movie night with an old friend. I hadn't seen Amanda in months, and the idea of lounging around in our pajamas, binge-watching old comedies, and stuffing ourselves with junk food

sounded like the perfect remedy to shake off the weak stress. Her apartment was, as I remembered, small, cluttered with knickknacks, and filled with a scent that was somehow a mix of vanilla candles and microwave popcorn. It felt good to be there, to settle back into the comfort of our shared history. We were chatting, catching up on everything we'd missed in each other's lives, when Amanda casually mentioned that Eric would be delivering dinner. I paused. Who's Eric? I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though a print. Crickling unease started to gnaw at me. She waved a hand, dismissive. Oh, he's just a guy who helps me out sometimes. He's bringing the food tonight. Something about her tone made me uneasy,

but I pushed the feeling down. This was Amanda. If she trusted him enough to have him over, then I could at least be polite. When Eric arrived, I understood why something felt off. He fumbled with the Taco Bell boxes as he stepped into the apartment, his eyes flickering around the room but never quite settling on mine. Amanda was overly friendly, thanking him several times. Her tone almost rehearsed. You're the best, Eric, she said with a bright smile, and he just mumbled something back. His face flushed. There was an awkwardness in the air that clung like a thick fog. I tried to smile at him, but it felt forced, strained by the discomfort twisting in my gut. After Eric left, I couldn't help but ask Amanda what the deal was. She shrugged, almost defensively.

and explained how Eric helped her run errands, picked up her groceries, and did little things for her when she was too busy. He's just helpful, she said. Her eyes not quite meeting mine. There was something in her voice, a hesitance that made me think she knew as well as I did, that this wasn't entirely normal. I let it drop, but the unease stayed. It didn't end there. A few days later, Eric added me to a group chat with Amanda. He started sending memes, nothing offensive. just banal attempts at humor that I politely acknowledged. Then he began offering to help me with things, errands, tasks, anything I needed. At first I declined, uncomfortable with the idea of involving him in my life.

But his offers kept coming, and I could feel the pressure mounting. I didn't want to seem ungrateful or rude, especially with Amanda in the middle of it all. Eventually, when I found myself struggling with how to transport a dresser I'd bought online, I made the mistake of accepting Eric's help. He was ecstatic, almost too enthusiastic. He handled everything smoothly, showing up exactly when he said he would, and refusing any payment.

When I insisted, he smiled in this strange, almost self-satisfied way and said, Just come on a hike with me sometime. That's payment enough. I didn't want to, but his persistence wore me down. He framed it like it was nothing, just a friendly outing. The dread settled in my chest like a sort of,

stone the day of the hike. I told myself it was fine, that I was overreacting, but every instinct I had screamed that this wasn't just a casual walk in the woods. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was making a mistake, a mistake that I would regret. The day was crisp, clear, the kind of autumn afternoon that made everything look sharper, edges more defined, shadows more elongated. I kept telling myself it was just a hike, but the apprehension that sat like a lump in my throat refused to budge. When Eric pulled up in his dusty old SUV, I paced it on a smile that I hoped looked more convincing than it felt. He greeted me with that same awkward grin, his eyes glancing over me quickly before looking away. Ready? he asked, his voice a bit too eager.

I nodded, swallowing the unease. He opened the passenger door for me, and I climbed in, feeling the cold, stale air inside the vehicle. The smell of old fast food wrappers. and something metallic lingered in the cabin. I glanced at the back seat. It was cluttered, filled with tools, ropes, and a couple of tarps, all of which seemed innocent enough, but they still made my heart skip a beat. We drove mostly in silence, the radio playing low in the background, some talk-show host rambling on about politics.

I tried to focus on the scenery instead, the reds and golds of the leaves, the way the sun filtered through the trees, splashing light across the road. But every time I looked at Eric, my instinct screamed at me to get out of the car. He seemed so intent, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly. We finally reached the trailhead, a narrow dirt path leading into the thick woods. I got out, taking a deep breath of fresh air, trying to steady myself. Eric grabbed a small backpack from the back, slinging it over his shoulder. There's a spot I want to show you," he said, his voice carrying a strange sort of excitement. I forced to smile and nodded, even though every part of me wanted to turn and run back to the

car. The hike started off easy enough, the path winding through the woods, leaves crunching under our feet. Eric talked about his work, his hobbies, the mundane details of his life that should have made him seem normal. But something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes seemed to dart around, never never fully meeting mine, kept me on edge. He walked ahead of me, his steps a little too quick, as if he was eager to reach wherever it was we were going. After about an hour he stopped,

turning to me with that strange smile again. We should go off the trail here, he said, pointing to a narrow gap between the trees. My heart lurched, but I couldn't think of a reason to say no that wouldn't sound paranoid. Sure, I said, my voice trembling, just slightly. He stepped off the path and I followed, my stomach churning. The deeper we went, the quieter it got. The rustle of leaves, the distant sound of birds. Everything seemed to fade away, replaced by an oppressive silence that made my skin crawl. Eric moved with purpose, his steps sure, like he'd been here before. I stumbled over roots, branches scratching at my arms, my unease growing with every step. Almost there.

he said, glancing back at me, his eyes dark, unreadable. I forced myself to keep going, my breaths coming shallow, my hands trembling. We finally reached a small clearing, and Eric stopped, turning to face me. Look, he said, pointing to the ground. I followed his gaze, and my blood ran cold. There, half buried under leaves and dirt, was a human arm, the skin gray and mottled, fingers curled as if in agony. I gasped, stumbling back, my hand flying to my mouth. Eric just stood there watching me, his expression calm, almost satisfied. I wanted to run, to scream, but my body felt frozen,

my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. Eric took a step closer, and I forced myself to move, to turn back the way we'd come. We—we need to go, I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. He didn't argue, he just smiled, that strange knowing smile, and nodded. Sure, he said, his tone almost amused. As we made our way back to the main trail, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was some sort of twisted game to him, a test, a way to see how far he could push me. My heart pounded in my chest, my eyes darting around, desperate for any sign of another person.

When I finally saw a man in the distance, I felt a rush of relief so powerful. It nearly brought me to tears. Hey! I called out my voice cracking. The man turned, looking confused, but I didn't care. I needed someone, anyone, there with us. I rushed over, Eric following behind, silent. I asked the man for directions pretending to be lost,

and eventually he agreed to walk us back to the parking lot. When we finally reached the cars, I called Amanda, my voice shaking as I told her we'd be back soon. I wanted her to know where I was, who I was with. Eric didn't say much on the drive back, and when we reached Amanda's apartment, I got out as quickly as I could, my legs trembling. Amanda and I thanked Eric, sending him on his way, and the moment the door closed behind him, I collapsed onto the couch, my body shaking.

I told Amanda everything, my voice breaking as I described the arm, the look on Eric's face, the way he'd just stood there, watching him. me. She listened, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. We need to get rid of him, she said, her voice barely a whisper. I nodded, knowing she was right. Whatever this was, whatever Eric was hiding, it was dangerous, and we needed to get away from it, from him. I remember the first day I moved into that old house with my daughter, Emily. She was only six, and I wanted so badly to make this place a home for us. It was a tall, three-story building. It was a tall, three-story building. creaky and old, but it had character. We rented the top floor, and the first floor was occupied

by an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. They were nice enough, always smiling and waving when we passed by. They had a son named Greg, who had just moved back in with them. They said he was going through a rough time, but they assured me he was harmless. At first Greg seemed okay. He was a bit awkward, but I thought that was just because he was shy. He would knock on my door sometimes, asking if I had any sugar or a cigarette. He always seemed a little distracted, his eyes darting around like he was looking for something. It was strange, but I didn't think too much of it. I just wanted to focus on settling in and making the place feel safe for Emily. But things started to get weird. Greg began knocking on my door late at night. It wasn't just for sugar or a cigarette anymore.

Sometimes he would just stand there, staring at me without saying a word. His eyes looked hollow, like he wasn't really seeing me. It made me uncomfortable, and I started avoiding him whenever I could. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson told me they had asked Greg to leave. They said he needed more help than they could give him, and it wasn't safe for him to stay. I felt relieved when he left, like maybe things would go back to normal. But they didn't. Little things started disappearing.

my favorite scarf, a bracelet my mom had given me, a few dollars from my purse. I thought I was just being forgetful, but it kept happening. Then I noticed the kitchen knife was missing. I tried to tell myself I had misplaced it, but I knew that wasn't true. The uneasy feeling in my stomach grew stronger every day. I felt like I was being watched, like there was someone else in the house with us, even when I knew we were alone. One hot summer afternoon, I was home alone.

My car was in the shop, so it looked like no one was there. I decided to take a quick shower while Emily was at her friend's house. I was just rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when I heard it, the creak of the back door opening. My heart stopped. I turned off the water, standing there frozen, listening. I could hear slow, deliberate footsteps coming up the stairs. They stopped right outside the bathroom door. I held my breath, my whole body trembling.

Then, after what felt like forever, the footsteps slowly retreated. I stayed there, frozen in the shower, until I was sure the house was silent again. I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination, but deep down, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. And the worst part was, I had no idea what was coming next. The days that followed felt like a blur. I tried my best to ignore the strange feelings and just focus on Emily,

but it was getting harder to pretend everything was okay. There were times I would catch a whiff of something strange, an odd, musty smell that made the hairs on my neck stand up. It would come and go, and I could never find the source. Sometimes the basement door would be open just a crack when I knew I had closed it. I felt like I was losing my mind, but I kept telling myself it was all in my head. One night, after Emily had gone to bed, I heard something that made my blood run cold.

It was a soft, muffled cough coming from somewhere beneath the floor. My heart pounded in my chest as I tiptoed around, trying to find where the sound had come from. I went down to the basement, but it was empty. Nothing seemed out of place, but I could feel something, something wrong. I went back upstairs, my heart still racing, and tried to shake off the fear. I told myself it must have been the wind, or maybe even a stray cat. but I knew that wasn't true. Everything changed the day the landlord came by for an inspection.

I remember he looked around the house, checking the windows and the pipes. Then he went down to the basement. A few minutes later, I heard him call out, his voice shaky. I rushed to the basement door, and that's when I heard the noise, shuffling, like someone was moving quickly through the darkness. I grabbed a flashlight and hurried down the stairs. The landlord was standing there. His face pale, pointing towards the far corner of the basement.

I followed his gaze, my heart pounding. There, in the shadows I saw movement, a figure darting between the old boxes and furniture. It was Greg. He looked wild, his eyes wide and frantic. Before I could react, he lunged at the landlord knocking him over, and then ran past me, disappearing out the basement door. The police were called, and they searched the neighborhood. After what felt like hours, they found Greg hiding behind a dumpster down the street.

They took him away, and I thought it was finally over. But when they searched the basement, they found something that made my stomach turn. Behind a stack of old furniture, Greg had made a hiding spot for himself, a filthy mattress, blankets, and some of my missing things. There were empty food wrappers, pieces of my clothing, and the missing kitchen knife. The worst part was the camera. It was an old, beat-up digital camera that Greg had left behind. On it were dozens of pictures, pictures of me taken through the windows, pictures of me sleeping. He had been watching us for weeks, sneaking into our home while we slept.

The thought made my skin crawl. I felt violated, terrified, like my home would never be safe again. The police told me the charges against Greg were dropped. They said they were making a deal, trying to get information on other crimes. It didn't make me feel any better. All I wanted was to keep Emily safe. I packed up our things and we moved away as soon as we could. But even now I can't shake the feeling that Greg is still out there somewhere, watching. The nightmare might be over, but the fear will never go away.

I first met Alex on a school field trip to the art museum. It was one of those trips where everyone was excited to get out of campus. I, on the other hand, was more interested in seeing the paintings and sculptures. I loved art. It was my passion, and this trip was like a dream come true. We had just gotten off the bus when I saw him, tall with dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything. He stood off to the side, sketching in a small notebook. I was drawn to him. He was the stranger in our school, bearing that quiet, mysterious air about him. My friends were like, laughing and chattering, but my attention strayed to him. He was drawing very fast, confident strokes.

When our teacher told us to get into pairs with someone for the project, I did stand there for a moment, my heart hammering before I approached him. Hey, I'm Emma. Want a partner up? I asked, trying to sound casual. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. There was something about the way he smiled, a kind of charm that made my heart skip a beat. sure he said his voice calm and smooth i'm alex we walked around the museum discussing the paintings and i was so surprised at his deep knowledge regarding the arts he had been clever funny and a really good listener by the end of the trip i felt like we'd known each other forever just before boarding the bus back he handed me something an origami rose i opened it and inside was his number written in tiny, neat letters. I couldn't help but smile. For the next two weeks, Alex and I were joined at the hip. We texted until early in the morning, laughing and swapping jokes and stories. We sat together in class, and during lunch, we'd hang out in the art room, just the two of us. I felt like

I could be myself around him, and I loved how he seemed to understand me in a way that no one else did. I was falling for him, and it all seemed too perfect. But then, things started to feel, off. It began with small things, such as him always refusing when I would ask him to hang out outside of school. No matter what I suggested, the movies, the park, even a group outing with my friends, his answer was always the same. No, I can't. He never explained why, and I started to feel uneasy. And then there were the conversations. Sometimes Alex would ask me questions, personal questions, and just as I was about to answer, he'd cut in with something else, something even more intrusive. What are you doing this weekend? He'd ask, and before I could answer, he'd cut in with,

Have you ever been in love? It made me uncomfortable, but I told myself I was overthinking it. That night, lying in my bed, I got a text from Alex. I had a dream about you, it said. I shivered, thinking nothing of it. Then I asked him what the dream was about, thinking it would be sweet. But the messages preceding to that made my skin crawl. He said things, intimate and aggressive things that seemed disgusting to me, sickening. I couldn't believe what I was reading. This wasn't the Alex I knew. My hands were shaking as I blocked his number.

My heart was racing. All I ever wanted was to just forget, go back to a time when it never happened. But the following day, I learned from a friend that Alex had posted pictures on social media, pictures of girls who looked just like me. The captions were vague. but threatening, and I felt a shiver run deep under my skin. I began to see him everywhere around the school, always watching, always waiting. Every time I turned a corner, it felt like he was there, following me with his eyes. And finally, when he announced he was moving to New York, a weight was

lifted off my shoulders. I thought it was over, but deep down I knew the fear he planted inside of me would never truly leave me. I thought I could finally bring breathe again when Alex said he was moving to New York. For a while, I almost convinced myself that things would get back to normal. I even started to feel a little hopeful, like maybe I could put all the weirdness behind me. But then the messages started. It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and I was in the park with my friends, trying to spend a day not thinking about Alex. My phone started buzzing. I pulled it out, thinking it was probably a text from my mom, but no, It was a message from a number I didn't even recognize.

I liked that blue dress on you. My heart sank. I looked around, scanning faces in the park but didn't see anyone I knew. My friends noticed me getting quiet and just acted like it was nothing important, but that feeling of unease had settled into my chest like a stone. The messages kept coming. They were always from different numbers, and each one made it clear that Alex was still watching me.

The park is a nice place to spend. a Saturday, isn't it? One read. Another said, what did you have for lunch? I bet it was the burger. He seemed to know everything I was doing, where I was, and who I was with. It felt like no matter where I went, Alex was there, hiding, watching. I deleted all my social media accounts. I changed my phone number. I even managed to convince my parents that we should move to a new town. They thought it was because I wanted a fresh start after high school, and I let them. them believe that. I couldn't tell them the truth. I couldn't let them know how scared I was. The thought of Alex following me, of him knowing where I lived, was more than I could handle.

But even after we moved, the messages didn't stop. They came late at night from untraceable email addresses. The messages were just as disturbing as before, sometimes describing the things he wanted to do to me, other times just talking about what I had done that day, like he was still watching. Did you like the coffee you had this morning? One email asked. I'd get heart palpitations each time I opened my inbox, and I started being terrified of even checking my phone. He even went to the extent of making fake profiles in order to get in touch with my friends and family in an attempt to find out where I was. I was so isolated now, scared that any relation of mine might give away my location. I stopped talking to my old friends, scared they might give something away without realizing

it. I felt so alone, like no one could understand what I went through. For three long years, the nightmare persisted. My heart would jump into my throat every time my phone buzzed. Every unexpected knock on the door sent me into a panic. I couldn't relax, couldn't trust anyone. I was overcome with stress and fear, and I felt like I was beginning to lose myself. I hardly went out, and when I did, I was constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Alex's face in the crowd. Then, one day, it all ceased. The messages just stopped. The fake profiles went down, and there were no more emails.

It was as though Alex had vanished. Slowly I began to breathe again. I went to college, got new friends, and even found someone to love, got married, started a job, and began to feel like myself again. But no matter how much time passes, the fear never really leaves. Sometimes I still feel his eyes on me, even if he's not there. I live with the memory of Alex and hope that our paths will never cross again, but knowing that the fear he left behind will always be part of me.

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Save up to 40% your first year at LifeLock.com slash Spotify. Terms apply. This was late autumn of 2017. That crisp, biting pre-winter chill had taken hold of the air, and a thick mist enveloped Tennessee. I lived on the outskirts of town in one of those newly built apartment complexes, and running through the nights was what I did to unwind. The streets were quiet and almost empty, which suited me just fine. It made me feel free, as though I had the whole world to myself. I slipped out that night around nine. The mist was heavy. and everything seemed to be veiled in a haze that was somehow dreamlike. I plugged in my earbuds, turned my music on,

and let the rhythm of my footsteps carry me along. My usual route took me down the quieter streets, past Briarwood Park, and an old graveyard beyond its borders. The park always felt eerie after dark, but I liked the feeling of mystery that came with it. The way the fog curled around the trees, the silence that settled in as I ran by, It was like another world.

I was making my way up to the graveyard entrance when I saw something strange. There was someone standing beside the rusty iron gates, a person, I should say. I slowed to a stop and yanked out my earbuds. The music filtered into the stillness of the night. It was difficult to see very clearly due to the mist, but it was small. It wasn't moving. I took a few steps closer, and my heart suddenly started pounding faster. It was a girl, probably ten or eleven years old.

She was in a thin nightgown, her hair disheveled, and her feet bare. She looked so out of place standing there in the cold with tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she kept glancing over her shoulder into the darkness of the graveyard. The iron gate creaked slightly as she clung to it, her knuckles white. I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Something wasn't right about this scene. I hesitated but took another step closer.

Hey, are you okay? I called out, trying to keep my tone light and friendly. The girl slowly turned toward me, her eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, she just stared. Then wordless, she flung herself at me, and her little arms went round my waist. Her fingers were ice cold, and she was shaking. Please, help me, she whispered, the shake in her voice so bad it was barely audible. She kept looking back at the graveyard, her eyes wide with terror. I could feel my heart racing now. Something was very wrong.

I pulled out my phone, fingers shaking as I dialed 911. It's all right, I told her. I'm calling the police. They'll help you. But the moment I said it, the girl transformed. Her tears ceased. Her eyes narrowed. Her grasp on my arm tightened, and I winced at the sudden pressure.

No police. She said, her voice suddenly deeper, almost unnatural. I stared at her, my stomach twisting in fear. Her face, once scared and vulnerable, now looked angry, almost threatening. I tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron. Hey, it's okay, I started to say, but then she let out a scream, a scream so loud and so strange that it felt like it was echoing inside my head. It wasn't just her voice.

It was like there were many voices, all screaming at once, layered on top of each other. It sent shivers through my very being, and I stumbled backward, my phone falling from my grasp. Before I could do a single thing, she released my arm and turned, dashing right through the graveyard. Her bare feet silent, she was like a spirit on the frozen ground. In seconds, she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness between the gravestones. I just stood there, frozen, as my heart pounded in my ears. The graveyard was silent now, swirling around the tombstones, the fog seemed to dance. The air felt heavy, as if even the wind was holding its breath.

I wanted to cry out to her, but my voice caught in my throat. Something told me I did not want to know what was in that darkness. Panic set in, and I turned and ran. I ran through the mist as fast as my legs got. could carry me, it blurred everything around me. I didn't stop until I reached the main road, where passing cars seemed to bring me some sense of safety with their lights. I bent over, trying to catch my breath while my mind was racing. Who was that girl? What just happened? And why did I feel like I had just narrowly escaped something terrible? One thing was sure,

I was never running that route again, and I hoped more than anything that I would never see that girl again. Whatever she was, I didn't want to find out. I couldn't fall asleep that night. Each time I shut my eyes, I saw her face, those huge, frightened eyes that turned angry so quickly. I could not stop from hearing that scream in my head, over and over again. It was like some horrible chorus which I couldn't get away from. I tossed and turned until finally giving up with my heart still racing. I threw off the covers, and in the darkness paced up and down my small apartment, trying to shake the unease that had settled deep in my bones. When the sun finally rose, I felt exhausted. The morning light had seemed to drive some

of the fear away, but I knew it was still there, lying just under the surface. That day, I went through all my classes, sat through lectures, and even met up with some friends for lunch. But I just couldn't focus. Her face kept flashing before my eyes, that screamed. still echoing in my mind. My friends saw that I was distracted, but I just said I hadn't slept well. It wasn't a lie. That evening, I thought about going for another run, just to clear my head, but something about running past Briarwood Park, past that graveyard, made my stomach twist in fear. I knew there was no way I could do that, not yet anyway. Maybe never. But instead I entered, locked the door and double-checked it before sitting down on the couch.

I turned the television on to try and get my mind off things with some mindless show, but nothing seemed to help. A few days passed, but the fear didn't recede. I avoided that part of town completely. I took different routes to class, made sure I was never anywhere near Briarwood Park. I stopped running altogether, being out in the dark all alone with nothing but the mist and silence,

was too much. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still out there, waiting for me. I started to have nightmares. In them, I was always back in the graveyard, standing at the rusted iron gates. The mist was thicker than it had ever been. I could hardly see my hand in front of me. I could hear something, though, a whispering coming from the darkness. I'd call out, and then I'd see her. The girl, standing among the gravestones, her eyes wide and hollow. She would begin to screech, that terrible, multitonal sound, and I'd awaken, heart pounding, soaked with sweat. One night, I was woken up by the sound of rustling outside my window. It was very low, sounding as if someone moved through the bushes. My heart jumped into my throat, and I lay there, now rigid,

listening to it. The rustling ceased, and for a moment everything was deathly silent. Then I heard it, a low, whispering voice just outside the glass. I couldn't make out the words, but I recognize that voice. She's the girl from the graveyard. Panic washed over me as I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone. My hands were shaking so much I could hardly dial, but I did manage to get the number of a friend who lived just down the road from me. I didn't tell her what was happening, just that I needed to come over. I needed to get out. I needed to be somewhere safe. I didn't sleep that night either. And sitting on my friend's couch looking out the window at the darkness, one thing was for sure. I wasn't imagining it. She was real.