This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Odd_Occasion4750 on 2024-09-18 17:40:51+00:00.

I don’t usually have nightmares. At least, I didn’t used to. But after last night, I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep peacefully again.

It started with the phone call. Late, around 3a.m. I was already half-asleep, the room dark except for the dim glow of my bedside clock. The phone rang, and I groggily reached for it, annoyed at whoever would be calling at this hour.

When I picked it up, there was no sound. Just silence.

“Hello?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

Nothing.

“Who is this?” I asked, now more awake, a creeping unease starting to form in my stomach.

Still silence.

I was about to hang up when I heard it. A faint, crackling sound, like someone trying to breathe through a bad connection. Then, barely audible, a voice whispered:

“I’m inside.”

My blood ran cold. For a moment, I thought I hadn’t heard it right. But then the voice came again, clearer this time:

“I’m inside.”

I bolted upright, heart pounding, and looked around the room. The door was shut, just as I had left it before going to bed. The windows were locked. Everything seemed normal, but that voice… it was so close, like someone whispering right in my ear.

I hung up the phone and sat in the dark, straining to hear any sound in the house. Nothing. No footsteps, no creaking floorboards. Just silence.

But that didn’t stop the feeling that someone was watching me. Every instinct I had screamed that something was wrong, that I wasn’t alone.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could use as a weapon — an old baseball bat from my closet — and slowly opened my bedroom door, peeking out into the hallway. The house was pitch black, the only light coming from the streetlamps filtering through the curtains in the living room.

I stepped out, gripping the bat tightly, and crept down the hall, my heart racing with every step. The silence was suffocating, making every tiny noise sound amplified — the creak of the floor under my feet, the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

I reached the living room, where everything seemed exactly as I’d left it. No sign of anyone, no open doors or windows. I let out a shaky breath, starting to feel a little ridiculous. Maybe it was a prank call, or my mind playing tricks on me.

That’s when I saw it.

In the reflection of the window, just behind me, was the outline of a figure. Tall, with long limbs that seemed to bend at unnatural angles. My blood froze as I watched it, unmoving, standing right behind me.

Slowly, I turned around. There was no one there.

But the reflection didn’t change.

The figure in the window was still there, standing right where I had been looking. Its head was cocked to one side, as if curious. And then, it moved. Not in the reflection, but in reality — a sudden, jerking movement that sent the blood in my veins to ice.

I swung the bat at the empty air behind me, expecting to hit something, but the bat just cut through nothing. Yet, when I looked back at the window, the figure was still there, now closer, its head tilting further, its eyes — hollow and dark — fixed on me.

Panic surged through me. I ran, stumbling back to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I locked it, breathing heavily, pressing my ear to the wood, trying to hear if it had followed.

At first, there was silence. But then, from the other side of the door, I heard it again.

A whisper.

“I’m inside.”

This time, it wasn’t coming from the phone. It was coming from just outside the door.

I backed away, heart racing, staring at the door as it slowly creaked open on its own.

The hallway was empty. But I knew it was there, waiting, just beyond the reach of the light spilling out from my room.

Then, in the darkness, I saw them — a pair of hollow eyes, staring at me from the blackness. The figure slowly stepped forward, into the light, its twisted limbs moving in that same jerking motion I’d seen before.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My body was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear.

The figure stood at the threshold, its face inches from mine. Its voice was a rasp, like wind through dead leaves.

“You can’t leave,” it whispered. “I’m already inside.”

And then, everything went black.

When I woke up, it was morning. The door to my room was still closed, locked just as I’d left it. The house was quiet, sunlight streaming through the windows.

But I know what I saw. What I heard. I can still feel its presence, lurking just out of sight, waiting for nightfall.

And I know that the next time I hear it whisper, I won’t be able to wake up.