As a teen, I would often wake up screaming as I scrambled to get the light turned on. In the dimly-lit room with only the moon for light, I would see a shadowy hand gripping a knife, coming down quickly toward my face. Other times I would see hands holding a pillow that would be pressing downward toward my face, trying to smother me. I finally left my room light on continuously.
I seemed to grow out of this, until one night I lay sleeping in my dorm room, where I had a visitor that appeared as a shadowy figure standing by my bed. This figure seemed petite, but would intentionally fall across me. It seemed it would ultimately smother me to death. I chalked this up to an overwhelming amount of stress due to my studies.
I graduated, moved in with two old ladies, and got a job at an old hospital. Some wings of the hospital were no longer in use. Sometimes I would walk the halls and visit the vacant, spooky rooms. There were reports of screams and call lights coming on in the empty rooms. Some saw what they described as angels. I never had any of those experiences, but I was drawn there in the evening when the light was getting dim. I would occasionally witness a shadow near me, and would walk quickly toward the brightest light.
One night I woke up to see a heavier female figure standing by my bed—just looking down at me. The following morning, I mentioned it to the oldest lady. She said, “Oh, honey, I am sorry. I should have told you that Clara (the other old lady) was released from an insane asylum.” That night I put a chair against my door. There were no visits from Clara, but it did not stop that shadowy figure from standing at my bedside.
Eventually I married and moved in with my dream mate. I continued to have bad nights and bad dreams, but I would somehow hide this from my love.
Now, I am old and fatter, and a stroke has left me an invalid. I am living in one of those homes that no one wants to end up in—a house of horrors. When the moonlight dances around me, I can’t reach my light when the shadowy figure appears. When the shadow falls over my body, no one will believe me. When I scream now, no one listens to me. I am helpless.
My shadowy figure has stalked me all of my life and now has finally gotten the best of me. I can’t move, so the shadow just stays there in one place, wherever I am. My shadow won’t leave me; it is there all the time.
As I am being carried out on a stretcher, my head is covered up. There is no moonlight, only pitch black. At last I have won; my shadow is gone.
I seemed to grow out of this, until one night I lay sleeping in my dorm room, where I had a visitor that appeared as a shadowy figure standing by my bed. This figure seemed petite, but would intentionally fall across me. It seemed it would ultimately smother me to death. I chalked this up to an overwhelming amount of stress due to my studies.
I graduated, moved in with two old ladies, and got a job at an old hospital. Some wings of the hospital were no longer in use. Sometimes I would walk the halls and visit the vacant, spooky rooms. There were reports of screams and call lights coming on in the empty rooms. Some saw what they described as angels. I never had any of those experiences, but I was drawn there in the evening when the light was getting dim. I would occasionally witness a shadow near me, and would walk quickly toward the brightest light.
One night I woke up to see a heavier female figure standing by my bed—just looking down at me. The following morning, I mentioned it to the oldest lady. She said, “Oh, honey, I am sorry. I should have told you that Clara (the other old lady) was released from an insane asylum.” That night I put a chair against my door. There were no visits from Clara, but it did not stop that shadowy figure from standing at my bedside.
Eventually I married and moved in with my dream mate. I continued to have bad nights and bad dreams, but I would somehow hide this from my love.
Now, I am old and fatter, and a stroke has left me an invalid. I am living in one of those homes that no one wants to end up in—a house of horrors. When the moonlight dances around me, I can’t reach my light when the shadowy figure appears. When the shadow falls over my body, no one will believe me. When I scream now, no one listens to me. I am helpless.
My shadowy figure has stalked me all of my life and now has finally gotten the best of me. I can’t move, so the shadow just stays there in one place, wherever I am. My shadow won’t leave me; it is there all the time.
As I am being carried out on a stretcher, my head is covered up. There is no moonlight, only pitch black. At last I have won; my shadow is gone.
