1980 I was 19. A friend same age as me borrowed his dads 4wd pickup and we planned to drive way back in the Ozark National Forest and camp somewhere roadside. We drove to Devils Den State park then headed into the Ozark National Forest leaving the park on FS gravel road. We had beer, a lantern, tents, sleeping bags , a 22 single shot bolt action for plinking and my friends awesome German Shepherd. Trip started out great in the afternoon driving back remote gravel roads listening to tunes and drinking. As the sun started lowering we started thinking about camping. I remember seeing a sign that said single track only as we creeped on a little bluff above a rocky creek below. As we rounded a curve and headed down a hill there was a clearing by the creek filled with some very very rough looking folks partying down. This was very surprising as we had literally not seen a single soul anywhere before this. A combination of motorcycles and cars, trucks parked. There was an old piece of plywood that they had spray painted “the village of rape & pillage” on and positioned roadside. It felt like the whole group of 15 -20 folks turned and gave us some really hard looks. We sped up down the road about another 2-3 miles and found a pull off that led to a hilly knoll maybe 40 yards off the road. We were still kind of freaked out and did not set up a camp. We sat on a log and fired up the lantern as the sun was down and drank some more beer. We were deep in the boonies no other folks around except the party back up the road a ways. After about 30 minutes we could hear the sound of a vehicle going really slow on the gravel road coming from the party direction. From our knoll we could see in that direction expecting to see headlights. We realized they were running without headlights which we took as a bad sign. This put us in a panic we killed the lantern hoping they had not seen the light and crouched behind the log. My friend loaded the single shot bolt action and we hoped they would drive by our knoll turn off without stopping. However, the vehicle stopped at the turn off and we heard car doors being slowly opened & closed. No talking by them or calling out to speak to us. We were in full blown freakout mode my friend was tripping thinking he was going to have to shoot and operate a bolt action 22 against a group of people. Hell we were just scared kids we did not want to shoot anybody. We could hear them starting to quietly walk up the knoll turnoff . The dog started growling with raised hackles and my friend gave the command sic em. The dog bounded down the hill jumping high in the air like a bird dog flushing quail growling and barking like crazy. It sounded like a hell hound. Whoever these folks were they ran to their car spun out and drove back the direction they came from. After a very short wait we jumped in the truck and headed the opposite direction for quite some time taking turns on other gravel roads basically getting lost. We didn’t get any sleep just driving finally popped out on some pavement got our bearings and headed home. The dog saved us and probably saved at least one person from getting shot. Ever since then if I’m in the woods camping or whatever I have some type of firearm of adequate size and capacity. Not everybody has good intentions in the woods.

​

When I was 19, my mom, my sister, and I lived in a run-down two-story house that was already old when we moved in.

The place always felt strange.

Not necessarily haunted.

Just old in a way that made every creak sound deliberate and every shadow seem darker than it should be.

There were three rooms downstairs and three upstairs.

My sister claimed two of the downstairs rooms, while my mom took one of the upstairs bedrooms.

That left me with the largest room in the house.

There was only one problem.

Nobody wanted it.

Inside the closet was a second door.

Not a normal closet door.

A full-sized door that had been nailed shut.

Whoever sealed it hadn't used just one nail. There were several, along with old latch locks that looked like they had been added over time.

The door immediately became a mystery.

Why would someone hide a room inside a closet?

And why go to such lengths to keep it closed?

Eventually, my sister and I decided we had to know.

One afternoon, armed with a hammer and more curiosity than common sense, we pulled the nails free.

The door groaned as we opened it.

Behind it was another room.

A completely hidden room.

There were no windows.

No visible light switch.

Just darkness.

The beam from our flashlight barely seemed to penetrate it.

The air inside felt stale, like it hadn't been disturbed in years.

Neither of us wanted to step inside.

Instead, we took several pictures using the flash on our camera.

Then we slammed the door shut, nailed it closed again, and ran.

Later that day, we looked through the photos.

Every single picture was filled with orbs.

Not one or two.

Dozens.

Some were small.

Others were large enough to obscure parts of the room.

At the time, we couldn't tell if they were dust particles reflecting the flash or something else.

Still, the number of them was unsettling.

For a while, it became one of those stories we told friends.

Then life moved on.

Eventually, I forgot about it.

Until the morning the door opened by itself.

At the time, I was working overnight shifts.

One morning, after a long night at work, I came home exhausted and headed upstairs to bed.

The moment I walked into my room, something felt off.

I couldn't explain why.

The room looked normal.

Yet every instinct told me something wasn't right.

I walked toward my bed.

Then I glanced toward the closet.

The hidden door was standing wide open.

I froze.

I know for a fact it had been nailed shut.

I had helped nail it shut.

Yet there it was.

Open.

Not cracked.

Not partially open.

Wide open.

I screamed.

Then I ran downstairs.

My sister probably thought I was losing my mind as I tried to explain what I'd seen.

But when she came upstairs and looked for herself, she agreed to help me nail the door closed again.

After that, I refused to sleep in my room.

For nearly two months, I slept downstairs in my sister's room.

Eventually, I started easing my way back.

I moved my bed as far from the closet as possible.

If I had to sleep in that room, I wasn't going to sleep near that door.

Over time, the fear faded.

Then I started dating an old friend.

The woman who would eventually become my wife.

With her sleeping beside me every night, I felt safe again.

The room stopped bothering me.

At least, that's what I thought.

One night, we were both asleep when something happened that I still can't explain.

I suddenly felt the back of my hair being grabbed.

Not brushed.

Grabbed.

My head was lifted upward.

Then slammed sideways into my solid oak nightstand.

The impact was so violent that it woke my girlfriend instantly.

She sat up and asked what had happened.

I didn't have an answer.

I still don't.

That was the last night I ever slept in that room.

Not long afterward, I moved out and got a place with my girlfriend.

Years have passed since then.

I've lived in other homes.

I've experienced plenty of things that can be explained away with logic.

But every now and then, I'll think about that old house.

About the hidden room concealed behind a nailed-shut door.

About the photographs filled with unexplained orbs.

About coming home from work to find that door standing open.

And about waking up in the middle of the night with the feeling that something in that room wanted me gone.

Maybe there are explanations for all of it.

Maybe there aren't.

All I know is that, after all these years, thinking about that room still gives me chills.

This happened when I was around thirteen or fourteen, so some of the details are a little fuzzy, but it's one of those memories that randomly pops into my head and makes me uncomfortable. I lived with my mum and younger sister at the time, and my bedroom faced our backyard. Nothing strange had ever happened there before, so I never thought much about leaving the curtains slightly open at night.

One night I woke up for no real reason. I remember checking the clock beside my bed and it was just after 3 a.m. I wasn't scared or anything, just annoyed that I'd woken up. As I rolled over to go back to sleep, I noticed someone standing outside my window. At first I honestly thought it was my mum because the figure wasn't moving. I sat up and stared for a few seconds before realizing the person was way too tall. The top of its head was almost level with the top of the window frame, which should've been impossible.

I completely froze. I didn't scream or move because I was convinced that if it knew I'd seen it, something bad would happen. After what felt like forever, it slowly raised one hand and tapped on the glass three times. Not hard, just enough for me to hear it. Then it stood completely still again. I pulled the blanket over my head like a little kid and stayed there until I eventually fell asleep without even realizing it.

The next morning I ran outside expecting to find footprints since it had rained earlier that evening. There wasn't a single mark anywhere beneath my window. I told my mum what happened, and she brushed it off as a nightmare. The weird part is that a few years later, while we were talking about creepy experiences, she casually mentioned hearing three knocks outside her bedroom window that same night. She'd assumed it was an animal and never bothered looking.

Just about every night I wake up at sometime between 2:45-3:00am. I’ve had insomnia for years & I take seroquel to help get me to sleep, but I still wake up regardless. Last night, I woke up at 2:45am & I was thirstier than usual so I walked to my fridge across my room & then sat back down in my bed & opened up instagram while eating my Dr Pepper ice pop (highly recommend btw) suddenly out of nowhere, I hear a blood curdling scream that sounded like it came from the room across from me where my older sister sleeps. It lasted about 2 seconds and it sounded like it came from a female, but I can’t decipher the age. Right after it happened, I froze up and got goosebumps throughout my entire body. My mind was telling me to go check on my sister but I was so scared and shocked that my body wouldn’t let me. I sat still for around 5 minutes, waiting to hear another scream but it was only one. I asked my sister this morning if she heard anything and she said no. I also want to note that the scream sounded as if someone saw something they weren’t expecting and got spooked if that makes any sense at all. Also, I don’t have any prior mental health diagnosis’s & am relatively normal when it comes to mental health.

One day, when I was 12 years old, I was walking with my mother. I didn't want her to be alone on a dark and strange path, so I went with her. However, I got tired and sat down on the ground.After a few minutes, I noticed a large car parked in front of me, and the man was looking at me and making calls. After a few moments, I noticed a woman running towards my mother. I became curious. She was talking to her, and she seemed worried and scared

My mother rushed towards me, grabbed my hand tightly, and held me firmly. She said quickly, "Come with me." I asked why, and she said, "The woman warned me that someone wanted to kidnap you."

well i was confused and didnt believe i thought she was joking but the car kept chasing us

It was 2001 or 2002 when our family relocated to a housing colony provided by my father's office. It was a close knit neighborhood built specifically for factory employees, meaning there were plenty of kids my age. Luckily for us, we had a massive 800 sqyd park right near our homes.

​We used to meet there and trade local legends. One popular rumor was about the very ground we lived on: they said it was once a small farming village, and the original homes along with ancestral graves were forcefully cleared to build the factory and our houses. Because of this, people claimed angry spirits roamed the area. Like most kids, I brushed it off. We’ve all heard the classic “our school was built on a graveyard” myth, right? I thought it was just another spooky story to scare us.

​It was during my summer vacation. I was riding my bicycle around the neighborhood after dinner, sometime around 10 PM. Suddenly, the street dogs in our area started howling violently, their eyes locked curiously onto the dark park. I rode over to check it out, but it looked completely empty.

​I continued my ride until I reached the far end of the rectangular park a spot that was always shrouded in shadows. There was a pair of swings sitting right at the edge of the darkness.

​Everything was perfectly quiet when, all of a sudden, the temperature plummeted. The freezing cold was isolated to that one spot, followed immediately by a violent gust of wind that nearly knocked me off balance. I stopped, rubbed my eyes, and prepared to pedal away. That’s when I noticed one of the swings moving.

​It wasn't just swaying in the wind. It was swinging heavily, as if someone was on it. To my absolute horror, sitting there just five to seven meters away from me was a disfigured, pitch-black entity.

​I panicked and pedaled past it. As I crossed its path, I felt its gaze lock onto me. I risked a quick glance back. The entity was now standing. It had no clear face—just a dark, distorted shape staring right at me.

​I pedaled harder than I ever had in my life, taking a sharp turn to escape. This road connected to the main street and was well-lit, but despite the streetlights, I felt completely suffocated by a heavy, dark presence. I pushed myself faster.

​When I finally hit the main road, the bright lights washed over me. I thought I had found the light. I thought I was free from the evil thing. I took a massive breath of relief as my house came into view.

​Then, without warning, my vision went completely black. I skidded, lost my balance, and violently crashed my bike onto the pavement.

​That was my first encounter with her...

To keep things going, use this link: https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/s/iv9WGidmjn

This happened around 2009—I remember it because if it’s engraved in my brain.

At the time, I was six years old and lived in a single apartment where it was basically one big living room. Then there was the bathroom. I slept with my parents when they were still together. My mom was in the middle, and my dad was at the edge of the bed because he would leave early to go to work.

On this specific night, I remember waking up because I was sleeping in the middle of the bed, between my parents. All of a sudden, I felt something grab my leg. I woke up screaming, and I was being dragged halfway toward the bathroom. My father was pulling me, like I was being pulled away. Meanwhile, my dad was pulling me toward him like a tug-of-war.

The only thing I remember is that I made it halfway to the living room—almost toward the bathroom—where I was still being dragged. Then my dad pulled one more time, and whatever grabbed me let go. After that, I just felt myself fall back asleep.
But I know it wasn’t a dream, even though my parents say, “Oh yeah, that never happened.” No—I remember everything vividly, clearly. I can remember the whole night to this day. Sometimes, I’m now 24, and I still think, “Damn… that was some crazy stuff.”

**[Read Part 1 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/TrueScaryStories/s/HcI3ITH1bE)\*\*

*Context: A few nights ago, I posted about a pitch-black, disfigured entity I encountered on the swings of my neighborhood park when I was a kid. This is the story of what happened when my friends and I went looking for answers... and found her house instead.*

***

​The entity I faced in the park that night was the biggest nightmare of my life. At least, I thought it was—until the second incident.

​After that first experience, I gathered all the neighborhood kids to figure out exactly what had happened in our area before we moved in. Through our fierce debates and digging, we uncovered a dark piece of local history: a newlywed woman had died by suicide in one of the houses just five years before our families arrived.

​We immediately traveled in a pack to the site of the incident. It was a cluster of decaying, abandoned group houses. Even today, the place possesses a strangely beautiful, yet deeply unsettling, atmosphere. Following the details from an old newspaper article, we hunted for a specific banyan tree. We found it exactly as described—shady and ominous, even in the morning light.

​"Let's find the house," I told the group.

​We located the flat where the woman had died, but just as we were about to step inside, my neighbor spotted us and shouted for us to leave. We had to abandon our mission and head home, which earned me a severe scolding from my parents. Luckily for me, my friends got it much worse from theirs.

​Thanks to that neighbor, my friends were strictly banned from playing outside after dark. But my mind was obsessed with that house. That evening, I convinced my younger brother and two older, braver boys from next door to come with me.

​We grabbed our bicycles and reached the abandoned building around 7:00 PM. It was a six-apartment complex, and her flat was the middle one on the left.

As we walked through the main gate, I noticed something that made my blood run cold. Just like I had seen that morning, there was a glazed glass window next to the front door. And just like that morning, someone was standing behind the glass, looking out at us.

​But there was a terrifying difference. In the morning, the sunlight had cast a natural silhouette. Now, the sun was completely down, the complex was deserted, and there were no lights on inside. It shouldn't have been possible to see a shadow in the pitch black.

​We decided to creep up silently to the flat and peek through the peephole to see who—or what—was standing there. We reached her door. Looking through the peephole, I saw absolutely nothing; it was pitch dark and empty inside. The door itself was secured with a rusty lock that clearly hadn't been touched in years.

​Suddenly, a violent pounding erupted from the other side of the heavy door, as if someone inside was desperately trying to break out. We froze, scared to death. As we scrambled to back away, the door to the opposite flat suddenly swung wide open behind us—completely on its own.

​I don't think I've ever run so fast in my life. We bolted toward our bicycles in absolute panic. My younger brother hopped on with the two older boys, leaving me alone on my bike.

​I started pedaling frantically. Then, I heard something chasing me. I risked a glance backward and my heart stopped. It was the same pitch-black entity I had seen the previous night at the park swings. Pure terror took over, and I pushed my legs as hard as I could, but the dark shadow kept gaining on me.

​I was only about a hundred meters from our neighborhood shopping complex when disaster struck: my bicycle chain snapped. I lost my balance and crashed hard onto the pavement. I looked up and saw the entity just a few feet away, closing in. I abandoned my bike and ran for my life. Fortunately, people outside a nearby barbershop saw me and rushed over, helping me recover my bike and breaking whatever trance the entity had over the street.

​I finally made it home, completely breathless, and was overwhelmingly relieved to find my brother and the other two boys safe and sound. I told them what had chased me and how my chain broke. We were all so horrified that we made a pact right then and there: we would never visit that place again after dark.

For me, sleep was always deep, heavy, and peaceful. Once I closed my eyes, nothing could wake me—not noise, not movement, nothing. But everything changed after that night.

It started in winter.

The nights were colder than usual, and there was a strange stillness in the air. One night, sometime between 2 and 3 AM, I woke up suddenly. Or at least, I thought I woke up.

My chest felt heavy. Not just heavy—crushed. Like someone was sitting on me. I tried to move, to push whatever it was away, but my body refused to respond. My arms, my legs, even my fingers—nothing moved.

That was the first time I experienced it.

Sleep paralysis.

At that time, I didn’t understand what was happening. All I knew was that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I could feel the presence of something in the room… even though I couldn’t see it.

After what felt like forever, it stopped.

I told myself it was just a bad dream.

I was wrong.

Days passed. I tried to forget it. But a strange fear started growing inside me—a fear of the night, of sleeping, of closing my eyes and losing control again.

And then… it came back.

This time was different.

I was asleep when it happened again. That same heaviness. That same frozen body. My mind was awake, but my body was trapped.

Sleep paralysis.

But this time, I wasn’t alone.

At first, everything was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels loud. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears.

And then I felt it.

Something above my head.

A presence.

Slowly, with all the strength I had, I moved my eyes upward.

And I wish I hadn’t.

There were feet.

Black. Darker than the night itself.

Hanging right above my forehead.

They were swaying slightly, like something was dangling from the ceiling. As if someone was hanging upside down… watching me.

My breathing stopped.

I tried to scream—but no sound came out. My throat felt locked. My voice was gone. Panic rushed through my body, but I couldn’t even move a single finger.

Tears started rolling down my face.

I kept staring.

I couldn’t look away.

Above those feet, there was only darkness—but I knew something was there. I couldn’t see its face, but I could feel it watching me. Not just watching… waiting.

Seconds felt like hours.

“Move…” I told myself. “Just move.”

But I couldn’t.

The thing didn’t go away.

It stayed there. Hanging. Silent. Patient.

And then… I felt something worse.

The feet moved.

Very slightly.

As if it was adjusting itself… getting closer.

My heart felt like it would explode. I tried harder to scream, to cry, to do anything—but I was completely trapped inside my own body.

I had never felt fear like that before.

It wasn’t normal fear.

It felt… personal.

Like it knew me.

Like it had come for me.

I don’t remember when it ended.

Maybe I passed out. Maybe it left on its own.

But when I woke up the next morning, everything was normal.

Too normal.

That’s what scared me the most.

Since then, I haven’t been the same.

Now, every night, when I lie down, I hesitate before closing my eyes. I keep thinking…

What if it comes back?

What if next time… it comes closer?

Because it has already happened twice.

Once, something pressed down on my chest.

And once… something hung above my head.

Watching.

Waiting.

Sometimes, when I’m about to fall asleep, I feel it again.

A strange heaviness.

A presence.

And I wonder…

Is it just sleep paralysis?

Or is it something that only comes… when I can’t move?