Spring is no longer around the corner- but its weather (or at least down in Texas) is still lagging behind.
Ah, spring. The season of blossoming allergies and the return of pollen and bees, creatures that defy the very laws of physics with their tiny wings completely non-proportional to their very bodies.

But alas, after the long, uneventful Winter comes a new Spring.

And what better to celebrate with amateur horror stories?

My dreams started when I was a child- 8 years old at the least; but the events didn’t start occurring until recently, over a decade later. It’s hard to explain, really, but I’ll try my best.

When I was a young girl, I had those frequent dreams where I could see a glimpse into the future but forget about it until the event actually occurred in my physical life about a month or two later. I did research on this recently, and I found out that the average person experiences these kinds of dreams; which terrifies the living hell out of me.

But unlike the average person, my dreams aren’t in my perspective- or at least I think. Sometimes I recall seeing myself, not a reflection, not in a mirror, but from another person’s eyes.

Although I usually forget my dreams, I seem to perfectly recount my experiences with astral projection. And no- it’s not as cool as it may seem.

Whenever I would lucid dream or astral project, I recall always interacting with the most suspicious beings. I met a strange man in the astral plane; he always seemed to be there and watching me when I would venture far. At first I was afraid, then realized he never posed a real threat to my life. He was hard to ignore, however, for he was always around when I walked around freely.

When I walked around a corner.

I used to have nightmares when I couldn’t control my subconscious. It was always of getting caught in the midst of multiple tornadoes at once, getting bitten and attacked by animals, or drowning.

I Google’d dream interpretations one night when I woke up after I got swept away by a tidal wave and woke up drenched in cold sweat. It told me I was vulnerable and going through uncontrollable change in my life. I thought this was plausible as we had to move due to transportation issues regarding school and I, of course, was growing up.

However, as I grew up, my projections became less frequent and far more eerie. A few times as I was heading to return to my body, I saw… shadows lurking over me. When I woke up, I found long, deep claw marks on my body. But they didn’t hurt. Fortunately for me they would disappear within a few hours and there would be no evidence of them at all.

Except… recently my nightmares this time occurred during lucid dream. As you know, the man I always saw wherever I went seemed to get closer now every time I turned a corner.

But two months ago… He attacked.

Not with a weapon, not with his fists, but with his teeth.

I was walking around a forest when he lunged towards me, his teeth long and bare, ready to attack. I screamed, of course, and fought all I could to get away from him.

I willed myself awake and felt a ringing pain on my arm.

On my forearm, where he bit me, was a deep wound made from long teeth. Being a medical major, I knew they weren’t human bite marks. But this time, it was different. I was bleeding. Unlike the other wounds I earned from spiritual attacks, this one didn’t disappear. None of the wounds after that night would.

My roommate came into my room, saying she heard me scream. Her eyes suddenly switched focus and she screamed, too.

She called the police saying someone snuck into my room and attacked me, but I knew the truth. Or, at least, I do now.

Skip forward a month later and I lost one of my pinky toes, have long scars and scratches all over my body, and a large bruise on my right thigh. At this time, I skipped a few classes to avoid suspicion and nearly got kicked out of school for missing too much school. I stopped lucid dreaming and astral projection altogether, but that just didn’t seem to work.

One morning, after not sleeping for three days straight to avoid this mess, a note slipped under the door of our apartment: “FREE ME GO TO SLEEP” it read. Suddenly I got a headache and sat myself down, my tired eyes fighting to close.

I woke up with bruises all over my arms. I assume it being punishment for not sleeping for so long. I slept until the next morning.

That day, I decided to walk around the park that was adjacent to my apartment complex, covered up completely to both defend myself from the cold as well as avoid suspicious glances.

As I walked around the park, I noticed only one other person in the park with me. From their build they looked like a man. He was wearing a black flat cap, like what people in the 40s in Europe wore I assume, and a long trench coat. As I got closer to finishing my first round as well as getting closer to him, I immediately recognized the man and I gasped. He looked up as if he was able to hear my shuddering breaths from 50 feet away and smiled at me, revealing his long, fangy teeth. I instantly turned around to head back home and cried- but I saw him, on the other side of the street, with the same, demonic grin. I ran and found myself surrounded by this man on all sides of the sidewalk: in front of me, behind me, in front of the shop on the other side of the street, in the park. I was going to die.

The next thing I knew I woke up in a hospitable bed, surrounded by nurses with worried looks on their faces. Later, I was questioned if I was abused or currently being abused. They seemed skeptical when I told them ‘no.’

I stayed at the hospital for a good two days, no new gashes or cuts had appeared, making the nurses and doctors scoff when I explained my dreams were harming me. They released me on the third day.

As my roommate drove me home, she asked about my wounds.

As I was telling the story, the man appeared in the middle of the road and I yelled at her to stop. Her car skid to a stop and I got out the car. There was nobody there.

“Hey what’s going on?” She asked.

“He was here!” I yelled.


“The man that’s been doing this to me!” I held up my arms and began sobbing.

“There’s nobody here, Vanessa…”

“He was here!” I repeated. “He was here. He was here…” I fell to my knees, crying in the middle of the street. Cars began honking and I passed out.

I woke up in my room to the sound of my roommate sobbing just outside my bedroom door. There was a stinging pain on my left hand, but I paid no attention to it as I got up from bed and slowly opened the door.

“Shirley?” I began. I looked down and she was curdled into a ball at the front door, rolling back and forth, crying loudly. “Are you okay?” I asked. I walked over to her and was about to help console her until she put her hands up defensively. Her hands were covered in blood, but I didn’t see any source of blood on her body.

“W-what happened?” I stammered.

“You mean you really don’t know?” She sniffled. I shook my head. She wiped at her face, but that didn’t stop the constant streaming of tears down her face, then pointed to her laptop that was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of our living room. I hesitantly walked over and sat down in front of it. I saw my room from a birds-eye view.

“Did you put a camera in my room?” I asked, looking over to her. She was now standing a few feet away from me; she nodded.

“I just wanted to prove that you were right, that your… dreams were causing your… pain…” She said cautiously. “That’s a live feed,” she said. “Go to an hour earlier.”

I obeyed and scrolled back the time frame to 3:48 PM.

Shirley had just tucked me into bed- I was out cold. She then walked over to adjust the camera, to have it more angled towards me and my bed. After positioning the camera to how she wanted it, she backed away and left my room. A static flickered across the screen for a split second, but that’s when I started to move.

My movements began with my head. My head jerked back and forth and then my hands started to twitch. After a few more moments my entire upper body began to thrash around, my torso and lower body not moving at all. Then I grabbed my right arm with my left hand and began gouging my nails into my skin, causing blood to pool around my fingertips. I looked down to my forearms, and there were the messy cuts from my nails that dug deep into my arm.

I continued to watch intently as I began forming my hands into fists, then repeatedly hammered onto my shoulder, hip, and stomach. I looked down and lifted my shirt, a small, purple bruise had formed in the area where I hit myself. Suddenly, Shirley ran into my room and screamed, running over to me, trying to hold me down.

My mouth had unnaturally stretched out as did my eyelids. My gums were bare, forming the scariest smile I’d ever seen on a human; the whites of my eyes overpowering my pupils. Then… I just stopped. I stopped thrashing around, but I didn’t stop smiling or staring into what seemed like Shirley’s soul.

By this time now, Shirley had turned away and I could hear her heavy breathing. I turned back to the laptop.

Shirley had let go of me now and slowly backed away. Then that’s when it happened. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before. But I put my left index finger into my mouth…

And chomped.

I looked down to my hands in horror as I finally learned why my left hand was now missing by a knuckle. Somehow, the bleeding had stopped.

After that day I refused to sleep. It’s been days since I last slept; since I’ve dreamed. And it’s been days since I’ve gotten wounded. But I still see the man. He still stands outside my bedroom window; just like in the video. Shirley swears to me nobody stands there, on the sidewalk across from our building but I know he’s there. I know it, I know it, I know it. My doctor is now trying to convince me that he isn’t real. I believe him sometimes.

He always mentions ‘confabulation’, how it’s my mind’s way of reacting to my inability to remember my self-harm. How the man is part of my memory disturbance, how I made him up as an easy-way to blame something else as a misinterpretations of my own memories. But I know what I remember; I know what I saw; and I definitely know I remember it as clear as day.

But after all that happened, I can’t help but wonder… if he really is just a figment of my imagination.

But if he was…

Who sent that note under the door?



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