Title: “I Always Knew Ghosts Were Real — Until They Found Me”
I’ve always known ghosts were real.
Not because I watched scary movies or read horror novels —
but because my family? We _see_ them.
My grandma swears she saw her brother sitting at the kitchen table after he died —
sipping tea, smiling, like nothing had changed.
My uncle? He used to wake up screaming, saying “they’re under the bed.”
And me?
I saw one too.
When I was eight.
Standing at the foot of my bed.
Smiling. Not angry. Not scary. Just… there.
I thought it was a dream.
Or my imagination.
Kids get weird thoughts, right?
I told myself it wasn’t real.
Until last night.
🌙 THE NIGHT IT ALL CHANGED
I was home alone.
TV on. Lights off.
Just me and the flickering glow.
Then — I heard it.
My name.
Whispered.
Clear. Close.
Like someone stood right behind me.
I froze.
Didn’t scream. Didn’t move.
Then — I got up.
Walked to the basement.
Shone my phone’s torch down the stairs.
And that’s when I saw it.
A person.
Standing in the corner.
Wearing all black.
Head slightly tilted.
No face. Just… darkness where the face should be.
Not floating. Not glowing.
Just… standing.
Watching.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t breathe.
I just turned and ran.
Up the stairs.
Slipped on the carpet.
Crashed into the wall.
Didn’t care.
Just needed to get away.
I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter —
Not to stab her.
Not to fight.
Just to… hold something real.
Something sharp.
Something that could protect me.
I held it out — shaky, trembling —
Not close enough to touch her,
But close enough to see her.
To see the wrinkles. The gray hair. The eyes that didn’t blink.
She didn’t move.
Just stood there.
Whispering:
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
Over and over.
Like a broken record.
I screamed.
Not loud.
Not brave.
Just raw.
Guttural.
Like a wounded animal.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”
I yelled.
Tears streaming.
Knife shaking.
She didn’t answer.
Just kept whispering:
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
I collapsed onto the floor.
Breathing hard.
Panic rising.
Stomach twisting.
I wanted to run.
But my legs wouldn’t move.
I wanted to scream again.
But my voice was gone.
She just stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And I knew —
She wasn’t here to hurt me.
She was here to… remind me.
To tell me something.
Something I wasn’t ready to hear.
Then —
*BABY CRYING.*
Not loud. Not frantic.
Just… soft. Sad.
Like a newborn lost in the dark.
Coming from the basement.
I fainted.
💔 WHEN I WOKE UP
She was still there.
Standing over me.
Same black dress. Same long nails. Same empty face.
And the crying? Still going.
Faint. Echoing.
Like the basement was breathing.
I didn’t get up.
Didn’t check.
Didn’t dare.
I whispered to myself:
_“I’m never going down there again.”_
And I meant it.
Because this wasn’t just scary.
This was… _wrong_.
Like the house had teeth.
And it was smiling.
Then —
*CAR HEADLIGHTS.*
Outside. My parents.
I closed my eyes.
Counted.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
When I opened them —
She was gone.
I scrambled up. Ran to the door. Fumbled with the lock.
They knocked.
“Baby? Are you okay?”
I opened the door. Fell into my mom’s arms. Sobbing.
“Something horrible happened. I can’t stay here. I can’t.”
Dad held me tight.
“It’s okay, love. We’re here now.”
I shook my head.
“No. I’m going to Granny’s. I’m not sleeping here again.”
They didn’t argue.
Didn’t say “it’s just stress.”
Didn’t tell me to calm down.
They packed bags. Called Granny. Slept at her place that night.
🏠 THE HOUSE WAS SOLD
Next morning —
They put the house on the market.
Sold it fast.
New owners moved in.
Lasted three weeks.
Said the same thing happened.
Baby crying. Whispering. Woman in black.
House still stands.
Empty. Avoided.
Like a scar on the street.
I haven’t been back.
Not once.
Not in four years.
🕯️ TODAY
I still dream about her.
Still hear the baby.
Still feel that touch on my shoulder.
But I’m safe now.
In a new house.
With no whispers.
No shadows.
No long-nailed woman saying:
_“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”_
Because I know now —
She wasn’t lying.
She _didn’t_ hurt me.
But she scared me.
You must be logged in to post a comment.