I have been experiencing paranormal activities since I was really young. Sure my parents never believed me but my siblings did, because they too experienced them. The house we lived in had some weird vibe to it and I could never be alone in it because it always felt like there were people all around the house. I’d feel like I was being watched and the feeling was very uncomfortable. It was always either empty or filled, no one could be inside it alone, with all the eerie feelings we had and unexplainable occurrences. Our parents never wanted to admit that there was something wrong.
It was a very small house with only two bedrooms and there were five kids and three adults, so my two brothers and I slept on three different couches, while my parents slept with my younger sister, and my older sister liked her privacy so she slept alone. Although my mother told me that my dad’s family performed a type of ritual on the house years before we were born, she didn’t want to admit something was wrong. In one of the many traumatizing experiences, I’m writing about this one.
I slept on the smallest couch since I was the youngest. Waking up in the middle of the night was a common thing, but on this night, I believe I was as close to the danger as I could ever be in that house. I was staring at the ceiling for a while hoping to get my sleep back before I see or hear anything that’ll keep me up until the morning. I felt that uncomfortable feeling crawling in that something was about to happen. The living room was almost one with the passage and the kitchen considering the house was too small for more than two people.
I felt footsteps walking towards me. I covered myself with the blankets and, God, I felt like crying. These experiences took a huge chunk of my childhood. The passage light was always on, so after a while of hearing these footsteps walking towards me but not reaching me, I decided to do something. I took a peek. I looked at the reflection on the TV to see and what I saw really scared me more.
It was my mom. She was leaning forward almost like something’s wrong with her back, and she walking slowly, but she didn’t seem to be getting close to reaching me. Something told me it wasn’t her. The feeling I had felt was unpleasant. Not bearing to see this thing slowly walking towards me and not wanting to risk it seeing me watching it, I covered my head and held the blanks tightly praying to God that I fall asleep before anything else happens. I felt it touch my legs as it was passing but I pretended to be asleep.
It went into the kitchen. With no luck in getting sleep and wishing the sun would come up, I felt like time was moving too slow, so I could be kept in that experience as much as I can, so I could feel each second as it goes by. It felt like I had been up for hours and I was sweating excessively from being covered in the blankets and by fear. No sound came from the kitchen and whatever that thing was, never came out again. When I took a small peak from the blankets, looking at the reflection of the TV, I didn’t see anything but darkness from the kitchen. The longer I stared, the more it felt like I was being watched. I remembered that people always said; whenever I hear something peculiar in the middle of the night, I should never get up to check it because it was a way of “luring” you, especially in that town because it was never someone breaking in.
I felt a presence standing right there in the dark, almost like it wanted me to get up and check it. I covered myself again and I started crying silently. I was up for a really long time before crying myself to sleep. When I finally fell asleep, I had this weird dream. Everything that happened before I fell asleep happened again in the dream over and over again until finally I felt heavy breathing and heard a deep angry growl coming from the kitchen. In the dream I was sitting on the couch not sleeping and I couldn’t move. I saw red coloured eyes and, damn, this thing was tall. It started walking towards me. As it got closer to the light, before it appeared from the darkness, I woke up and it was morning. I was relieved, thanks to the excess sweat it covered the marks of the tears. Later that day I asked my mom if she ever went into the kitchen during the night, as expected she said she didn’t. Of course when I told her what I experienced she didn’t believe me.