I was 6 years old, living on a farm in a small town in Maine. We had just moved in, and something about this house didn’t feel right. Each member of my family had experienced something supernatural. But none of us had ever seen The Hatman until we moved there, we all wished we hadn’t.

When bedtime came, I would go to sleep, but I never remembered walking to my window. It felt like I was stuck there, staring out at the field that my window overlooked. In that field, there was a cemetery. Night after night, I would see this ominous, black figure slowly approaching the house. Every night, it would come closer until it was inside the house. I could hear the slow methodical footsteps downstairs, it always sounded like it was wearing heavy boots of some kind.

I reached a point where I would be wide awake, waiting, somehow able to sense that it was coming. I would hide under my covers praying for it to go away. It was torture to listen to the approaching footsteps as they climbed up the stairs knowing they were heading towards my room. I was paralyzed, unable to move or scream. My bedroom door would creak open, revealing the figure, but it never crossed the threshold of my room. It stood between 7-8 feet tall, dressed in a solid black outfit that included a wide-brimmed farmer’s hat and a long duster coat. The eyes glowed red, and I couldn’t seem to help but stare at them in fear when it revealed itself.

Terrified, I remained hidden under the covers unable to speak and silently screaming for help. For some reason, I would always pass out and then wake up sometime later. After I felt that The Hatman was gone, I would run to my older sister’s room for comfort. She was aware of everything that was happening and had seen it herself several times. It was a truly terrifying experience, one that still haunts me to this day. I continue to have nightmares, although I can’t recall if the figure has appeared in any recent ones.