The year was 1998 and I was 19. I was in the kitchen with my younger sister, doing the dishes while she washed, and I dried. We were talking and joking when I backed up into the wall. A few minutes later, something down the hall caught my eye. I turned and immediately screamed, almost dropping the dish I was drying. My sister quickly approached and asked what was wrong; I was incoherent. She looked down the hall where I was wildly pointing, but she couldn’t see anything; except the closet door where Hatman once stood.
Hatman appeared to me completely black—He stood around 6’5″. Where a face should have been was a solid black void. He wore a black fedora and floor-length black trench coat. The coat was so long I could not see his hands or feet.