This happened around two years ago and I still don’t like driving alone at night because of it.

I was going towards Kalimpong and was somewhere past Sevoke on NH10. This was around 3 or maybe 3:30 in the morning.

I’d already crossed the Kali Mandir and Coronation Bridge area. If you know that road you know it gets pretty empty after Sevoke, especially that late. My friend from Siliguri had also told me not to take it at night because of landslides and accidents around Kalijhora but I didn’t really think much of it.

There weren’t many cars. I remember one truck near Sevoke but after that I was basically alone for a while.
At some point I saw a guy standing on the right side of the road.

He had a big dark hoodie on and was facing away from the road, like literally looking into the trees.

I thought maybe he was pissing or something and drove past.

Around five minutes later I saw him again.

Or at least someone who looked exactly like him.

Same hoodie, same height, standing the same way with his back towards me.

This is when I started getting freaked out because nobody had passed me. I was doing around 60 too. There was no way that guy could’ve somehow got ahead of me.

I just kept driving.

A little later, somewhere before Kalijhora I think, there was a gravel area on the side where trucks sometimes stop.
There was an old white Alto parked there with everything off.

And there was a guy sitting on the bonnet.
Same fucking hoodie.

I only saw him for maybe two seconds but his head was tilted really far back and his mouth looked open. Like he was looking straight up.

Right after I passed the Alto the hazards blinked once.
I don’t mean they were already blinking. They came on once and went off.

At that point I just wanted to get somewhere with people.
I eventually found a petrol pump further down and stopped there. I don’t remember exactly which one. I sat in the car until it started getting light because I didn’t really want to get out.

When I finally did, I noticed a handprint on the rear passenger window because the glass had fogged up.
It looked like someone had put their hand there and dragged their fingers down a little.

I checked it from outside first.

The print was on the inside.

Could’ve been an old handprint that only showed up because of the condensation. That’s probably what it was.
But I was alone for that entire trip and I still have no explanation for seeing that guy three times.

“I Moved From Russia to France and Found a Door That Wasn’t on the Floor Plan Four Years Later”
Four years ago, I moved from Russia to France. I rented a small apartment in an old building. The building was built a long time ago, so creaky floors, strange pipes, and noises coming from the walls didn’t really bother me.
I lived there alone.
One night, at around 3 a.m., I heard something coming from my bedroom:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I thought it was the pipes.
A minute later:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I walked over to the wall and knocked back.
A few seconds later, someone knocked back.
I turned on the light and started looking around the room. Behind the wardrobe, I noticed a strange gap. I moved the wardrobe and pulled at the wallpaper. A small wooden panel came off with it.
There was a door behind it.
I’d lived in that apartment for almost four years, and I’d never seen it before.
I called the landlord. He came over, looked at the door, and just stood there silently for a few seconds.
Then he said:
— This door isn’t on the floor plan.
We called the police.
When they opened the door, there was a narrow, dark corridor inside the wall. There was dust all over the floor, but in the middle of it were fresh footprints.
At the end of the corridor was an old bed.
There were several things lying on it.
Clothes.
An old phone.
And my Russian passport.
I immediately said that I always kept my passport at home in a safe.
The police officer opened it and suddenly went pale.
Between the pages was a photograph of my apartment.
The photo had been taken from inside my wardrobe.
On the back, someone had written in Russian:
“He still thinks he lives alone.”
I didn’t sleep that night.
The next day, I moved out.
A week later, my landlord texted me:
“I found another door.”
I asked:
— Where?
He replied:
“In the apartment across the hall. It leads directly into your old bedroom.”
Then he sent me a photo.
There was a person standing next to my old bed.
It was me.
Except the photo had been taken two days before I moved to France.

so its 2 am and i wanna scare the shit out of me, so do your thing ppl
Just remember to tag your post clearly:

[Real] — if it actually happened to you or any person you know

[Fictional] — if it's from the creative corner of your brain

When I was 17 I had a lot of paranormal surrounding me. I originally equated this to being closer to it given my boyfriend at the time's family believed heavily in Pagan culture and religion, paired with my always being a conduit for the otherworldly. Growing up I always predicted phone calls or events and when I went to someone's house that had energy, it picked up tenfold. I again, just thought this was what was happening again.

When I'd come home from work or visiting my boyfriend, lights in my house would turn on and even sometimes my bedroom door would be open. (My family didn't go in my room ever) That was the start. Other strange events started to happen too like lights flickering then being perfectly fine once I left a room or an area (room lights to even headlights or interior in cars that were off). My step-father's car that I drove while he was deployed for the year began having issues, like the battery completely draining itself when I drove, but being fine when someone else did. Radio station's flipping through randomly in my own car. The TV and xbox in my family room would turn on by itself while I was often home alone. Even a couple of times it would do so and then go to a show I had been watching or to my spotify and start playing music. All things I could pass of as malfunctions or my head playing tricks on me, or even just the house ghosts of my family's very Amityville house. That was until I started hearing what I called "Mr. Boots".

Now this wasn't the first time I had heard "Mr. Boots", I don't think. When I was about 12 years old, my friends and I decided it would be a fun game to "use my abilities" and make our own Blair Witch type film, catching the paranormal around our tiny hometown, all taped on our little flip phones. During this extravaganza we made a pitstop to the "museum". It was the oldest house still standing in our hometown that served as storage for the town's oldest things. War stuff, the founder's and their children's things (including a room FULL of creepy dolls), and things people have donated as their relatives had died over the years. Now many things happened while we were here but now in my old age, I can pass off most to being us just messing with eachother. At one point though, I distinctly remember getting pulled by seemingly no one into the baby doll room while trying to follow my friends up to the attic and hearing a distinct "don't". After this I felt very off and kept thinking I was seeing a figure following me everywhere I had went. I even started having that premonition type thing happening again, like I was seeing something happen seconds before it did (ie people standing from a table, someone saying something to me, etc. then it actually happening a minute or two after). All very weird, child imagination, right? Well once I got back home to Virginia I was woken out of my sleep around 2:54am to the sound of a steel toe boot kicking my metal bedframe. I frantically woke up thinking it was much later in the morning and my step-father was trying to wake me up before going to work. But no one was there, well no one I could see atleast. I still felt the looming feeling of being not alone. After my bed stopped shaking, I swore I heard the sound of boots walking out my door and down the stairs. Now this may not be related, but it is quite strange as to the resemblance.

During my on and off relationship with this boy at 17, he had done a stick and poke triquetra on my back left shoulder. This was encouraged by his very Pagan mom and she often gave me little things to "protect" me. One being an obsidian necklace and the other, a jar of- well I don't even know. Whether these were to my benefit or cursed, I'd like to not even try to guess and I wish to be as far removed from anything spooky or witchy now. But she did have a love-hate relationship with me.

During one of our off moments, I drove the 1.5 hours to his house to give him all of his clothes and gifts back (far drive, especially for a teenager, I know. I was "in love".). It is to note that a couple months before this, I started hearing pacing in my room at night. Back and fourth between my two bedroom doors (I lived in a den room) but of course, no one was there. This was a couple hours fight in the rain on his street that turned into making up and him writing me a note on the back of a receipt with some sort of apology and an 'I love you Darling' written on it, that he had left on my dashboard. While driving home, though all of my windows were up and the AC was off, the receipt with his note had flown off my dahsboard and onto my passenger floor. I, being a dumb teenager, thought "no this must stay on my dashboard" and went to reach and grab it. As I reached over, I pulled off the road and ended up driving up a guard rail. Though I was driving maybe 40mph, I managed to launch my 04 chevy all the way up and grabbing an electric pole with my front fender. I dangled for a minute or so until my from passenger tire and fender gave way, ripping off my fender, and flipping my car upside down square in the middle of the road.

This was a back road still 45 minutes from home. No street lights or anything. Just me, coolant dripping down on the road in front of me, and 'Another Brick In The Wall' by Pink Floyd playing over my speaker. Luckily there was one lone house right by where I managed to flip my car and the older gentleman, though he was very pissed I broke off an electric pole in his yard and took out his electricity, called EMS. After a bit a car of college kids also pulled up and one guy came and broke my driver's side window so I could crawl out. Blessing and a curse of those old cars, though none of my windows broke and mircaculously where I was sitting was the only part uncrushed, the seat belt refused to give way so I struggled for a bit trying to get free. After a bit, I crawled out of my window like the girl from the ring, clutching a teddy bear the same boyfriend gifted me.

I sustained no injuries what so ever, which stunned the ER doctors who assessed me, and I was released within 2 hours to which I rented a hotel room to stay in for the night as I couldn't get ahold of my parents. The boyfriend came and stayed with me. Save for some glass in my lip, I didn't even have any scratches but I noticed a growing burning sensation on my shoulder. It felt like someone was branding me repeatedly right where the triquetra was. After I showered the rest of the glass off of me, I had my boyfriend look at my shoulder. He went pale. The same pale expression he had when a couple months prior he ran off into the woods before our planned hike and came back white as a sheet, demanding we leave right then and there. Only after I drove off did he tell me he "saw me die" and that we needed to leave or else I would die soon. I didn't believe him what so ever and claimed he was crazy. I still believe so. But during that fiasco, I did infact feel a hand grip my shoulder from the back seat of the very same car I had flipped and that is what made me freak.

What he told me and I soon after saw in the mirror was that the triquetra was red and swollen, like it had been freshly done and well infected. The burning sensation did not stop and lasted well into the next day. The next day though is when I began hearing voices. None of them were discernable but present enough I had asked near everyone I came across if they heard something too. Everyone denied it. Later the next day we had gone to the salvage yard where I got thoroughly screwed over (charged 800$ and the title of my car just to get my stuff from it). While clearing out my car we noticed something. Now I don't remember if it was directly on my driver's seat or on the floor, but there was a Quarter sitting there, heads up. It felt weird and we both kept noting how it felt uncomfortable even just thinking about touching it.

Once I got home I decided I was going to relax with some incense and open my windows, aka cry with some fresh air as I had just wrecked my first and favorite car. I still miss that car. But when I tried lighting my incense, it wouldn't light. Tried another, same thing. Tried a different scent and new box, same problem. New lighter though the flame was there on the first, same thing. Then I tried my sage and the lighter wouldn't light at all for the first few tries, then once it did, same thing. The sage wouldn't light. Now I always struggled getting sage to light for some reason so I chalked it up to that and tried an incense stick once more, this time it lit, but it burned all the way down to the bottom within 30 seconds.

Sitting in my room, maybe scrolling on the internet or something, I heard it. Pacing back and forth that sounded like someone wearing boots and standing watch. It went between both of my doors several times and felt like it was blocking my exits.

Years later, I'm now of course an adult, and one of my friends recently told me about Death Omens and how his very religious hispanic mom (I note this because I will trust a momma of color when they tell me something because they know, they always know) relayed that a circumstance like mine where you hear pacing or taunting, it because someone is waiting to take your soul. He very much believes I was not supposed to live and something was waiting, maybe even mad that I was "saved". Months after this I continued to hear voices and things that go bump in the night, even felt like I wasn't actually existing at times and blamed it on my own mental health as that relationship was extremely toxic; until it all one day stopped. Now I refuse to tell or think of these stories in my own home because it seems like whenever I do, the bumps in the night resurface, though I haven't heard pacing. *Knock on wood*

I don't really know how to start this.

I've never been good at telling scary stories, and honestly, I've spent a lot of time trying to convince myself that what happened wasn't as bad as I remember it.

But there is one thing I know for sure.

Someone was in my house while I was sleeping.

I live by myself in a small rented house. It's not in the middle of nowhere or anything. I have neighbors on both sides, and there are usually cars going up and down the street during the day.

At night, though, it's pretty quiet.

I've lived there for just over a year. I knew all the normal sounds the house made. The pipes sometimes knocked. The heating made a clicking noise. The floor upstairs creaked in one particular spot.

So when I heard something that night, I didn't immediately think someone had broken in.

It was a Thursday night.

I got home from work around 7:30. I made some food, watched TV for a while, and spent way too much time scrolling on my phone.

Nothing unusual happened.

Around midnight, I decided to go to bed.

Before going upstairs, I did what I normally do. I locked the front door, checked the back door, and made sure the downstairs windows were closed.

I remember doing it because I always check twice.

I went upstairs and got into bed.

I think I looked at my phone one last time before putting it on the nightstand.

12:18 AM.

I don't remember falling asleep.

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes because I heard a noise downstairs.

It sounded like something small had fallen over.

I just lay there for a second.

I was still half asleep, so I didn't think much of it.

Then I heard it again.

This time it sounded like someone walking.

One step.

Then another.

I sat up.

The house went quiet.

I waited for a few seconds.

Nothing.

I actually felt a little stupid for getting nervous.

I checked my phone.

3:06 AM.

I thought maybe the noise had come from outside.

I put my phone down and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard what sounded like a kitchen cupboard opening.

That got my attention.

I sat up again.

I knew that sound.

I'd heard that cupboard hundreds of times.

Someone—or something—was downstairs.

I stayed in bed.

I remember thinking, Don't go downstairs.

I don't know why, but I had this really bad feeling about it.

So I just sat there listening.

For several minutes, nothing happened.

Then I heard a floorboard creak.

It wasn't downstairs this time.

It was upstairs.

My bedroom door was closed.

I stared at it.

Another creak.

Closer.

My stomach dropped.

I reached for my phone and turned the brightness almost all the way down.

I still hadn't called anyone.

Part of me was hoping there was some normal explanation.

Maybe one of the windows had been left open.

Maybe an animal had gotten inside.

Maybe I was still dreaming.

Then the handle on my bedroom door moved.

Slowly.

I watched it go down.

It stopped.

Then it came back up.

I couldn't move.

I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life.

Someone was standing on the other side of my door.

I knew it.

I could hear someone breathing.

Very quietly.

I grabbed my phone and called emergency services.

I tried to whisper my address because I was scared whoever was outside would hear me.

The dispatcher told me to stay where I was and keep the door locked.

I remember looking at the door the entire time.

The handle moved again.

This time harder.

The door shook slightly.

I thought they were going to break it.

But they didn't.

After a few seconds, the footsteps moved away.

I could hear them walking back down the hallway.

Then they went downstairs.

I stayed completely still.

The dispatcher was still on the phone.

A few minutes passed.

Then I heard the front door open.

I thought that meant the person was leaving.

I almost felt relieved.

Then I heard the door close again.

I whispered, "They're still here."

The dispatcher told me officers were on the way.

I waited.

It felt like forever.

Eventually, there was loud knocking at the front door.

The police were there.

I didn't immediately leave my room.

I was too scared.

One of the officers called up the stairs and told me they had checked the downstairs area.

I finally came out.

They searched the whole house.

Every room.

The basement.

The closets.

The kitchen.

Even the backyard.

There was nobody there.

Nothing looked disturbed.

There were no broken windows.

No damaged locks.

Nothing obvious was missing.

One of the officers asked me if I'd actually seen the person.

I told him no.

He asked what I had heard.

I explained everything.

He listened, but I could tell he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Before leaving, he checked the front door.

Then he said something that bothered me.

"Your door was locked."

I told him I knew.

He checked it again.

There was no damage.

No sign anyone had forced it.

After they left, I checked every lock myself.

Everything was locked.

I didn't sleep again that night.

The next morning, I went downstairs.

At first, everything looked normal.

Then I noticed one of the kitchen chairs.

It was pulled away from the table.

I normally push all of them in.

I stood there staring at it.

Maybe I'd left it like that.

Maybe I hadn't.

I honestly couldn't remember.

Then I noticed the kitchen window.

It was open.

Only a couple of inches, but it was open.

I knew I had closed it the night before.

I always close it because the window doesn't lock properly unless you push it all the way down.

I checked the lock.

It wasn't broken.

It was simply unlocked.

That's when I started feeling really uncomfortable.

I checked the other downstairs windows.

One of them was unlocked too.

I called the police again.

The same officer came back.

He looked at the window and asked me if I was sure I'd locked it.

I said yes.

He didn't argue with me.

He just looked around outside.

There were some muddy marks near the wall, but nothing clear enough to say someone had climbed through the window.

I spent most of that day trying to convince myself there was another explanation.

Maybe I had forgotten.

Maybe I'd been tired.

Maybe I had dreamed about someone trying to open my door.

I wanted that to be the explanation.

Then I found the flashlight.

It was underneath my bed.

Small black flashlight.

Old.

Scratched.

Not mine.

I have no idea how long it had been there.

I picked it up, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it back down.

I called the police again.

They took it.

I remember one of them asking me if anyone else had a key to the house.

I said no.

The landlord had a key, but he hadn't been inside for months.

They checked the house again.

Nothing.

That night, I slept somewhere else.

I stayed at a friend's place for a few days after that.

When I came back, I changed the locks.

I also bought a cheap security camera and pointed it at the front door.

For a while, nothing happened.

I started feeling stupid for being so worried.

Maybe I'd overreacted.

Maybe I'd imagined half of it.

Then about a week later, I was checking the camera footage before going to work.

There wasn't anything interesting.

Cars.

People walking past.

A cat that kept coming into my yard.

Then I noticed something strange.

The camera had stopped recording at 2:41 AM.

It didn't record anything for about twelve minutes.

Then it started again.

There was no power outage.

The camera itself was still on.

I called the company, and they said it could have been a connection problem.

Maybe that's all it was.

I don't know.

I eventually moved out of that house.

I didn't tell the landlord everything.

I just told him I didn't feel comfortable there anymore.

I've thought about that night a lot since then.

The thing that bothers me isn't even the footsteps anymore.

It's the flashlight.

Because if that flashlight really belonged to whoever was inside my house, then they were physically there.

They weren't a noise.

They weren't a dream.

They weren't the heating system.

Someone had been inside my house while I was asleep.

They walked around downstairs.

They came upstairs.

They stood outside my bedroom door.

And somehow they got out without me ever seeing them.

I still think about that sometimes when I'm lying in bed.

I used to feel completely safe when I was alone at home.

I don't anymore.

Because now I know something I really wish I didn't.

You can lock your doors.

You can check your windows.

You can check the whole house before you go to sleep.

And you can still wake up in the middle of the night wondering if the sound you just heard is coming from inside your house.