My first experience was when I was much younger. Eight years old. I was in my room, near sleep. You know how you can just feel is something/someone is watching you? Whether it be malevolent or not? I felt that and sat up to see the shadowy man at the foot of my bed. He had a hat on with a large brim and red eyes with no distinct features. Just shadow. I couldn’t move, he didn’t move. My memory doesn’t serve me as well as I wish, but all I remember next is my parents not believing me. That’s the worst part. I’ve been institutionalized at one point because of this [I was thirteen]. Any time I even get a glimpse of him, or even see a picture, my stomach drops and my spine turns into ice. And no one will believe me that it’s him, not me. At around fourteen, I saw him again on my birthday. I saw him the following day as I was waiting for my bus. And again on my fifteenth birthday and so on. I see him a lot, not regularly, just enough to never forget. Even at sixteen. I’m not sure what he wants with me, why he watches me. Does he want to hurt me? I won’t know until he does, I suppose. I can’t be in the dark. I just can’t. I sleep with many lights on, so that all corners of my room are illuminated. I don’t want the chance of him just being in the shadows, and me being unaware. I’m just not sure what to do. I don’t really think there is anything to do.
By Sara Rothe