I’m not afraid of the dark.

I’m not. Honest. I mean, I need the dark cause I can’t sleep with a light on. But I’m always on edge. Always jumping at the faintest unfamiliar noise. Always hating to be alone. ALWAYS being the victim of stupid pranks like someone shouting “BOO!” in my ear causing me to scream and run like hell.

Sigh. When I was a kid I would hide myself under my bed covers at night. I still do it now. Being under the covers for so long without a single breath of fresh air can make a person crazy. Oh, I’m not crazy! Its just that…ugh now you think I really am crazy. It doesn’t matter, let me just finish my story.

So like I said, I always cover my body; head to toe, with my blankets; wrapping it around me like a second skin and I try my best not to move and quickly fall asleep. Being under the covers felt like being in a furnace. The sensation of being choked by your own body heat, the feeling you losing oxygen and the only thing separating you from the cool night air is a simple blanket that can easily be pushed back…

But you can’t do that.

I won’t.

It protects me. Just like how falling asleep protects me. Nothing will get me as long as I am asleep.

The worst nights are when I wake up and it’s still dark out and I need to go to the restroom. I’m always too scared to leave my bed, but the pressure in my lower belly becomes painful and my stomach becomes heavy…

I didn’t want to burden my mother or father so I’ve kept all this to myself. They didn’t need to know.

There were times when I thought: what are you doing? You’re fine! There is nothing to be afraid of. I probably would have believed those thoughts with time…but…Those types of thoughts never crossed my mind again after that one night…

It was a Friday night and a few ‘friends’ had invited me over for a sleepover. I didn’t want to go but my mother said it would be fun and that I would have a great time.

It was a co-ed sleepover, much to my dismay. Two boys, three girls and myself, now this was taken place during my high school days so there was as much awkwardness as there was excitement. When I arrived they all seemed a little too…happy? To see me?

At first I was actually enjoying myself. We ate pizza with extra cheese and other good snacks, watched a funny movie and we talked as if we were all best friends. I …actually enjoyed myself…until the sun went down.

“Let’s read scary stories!”

I flinched, obviously not happy with the suggestion. But everyone else seemed to love the idea. It was inevitable. We were going to read scary stories, but I nearly begged them to leave the lights on.

The girl who made the suggestion smiled and took pity on me and agreed to keep the lights on. She decided to read a story called Darkness and I listened quietly as she read. Soon my breathing became uneven and I started to tremble ever so gently…then the lights went out and two cold wet hands reached out behind me and grabbed my shoulders while a raspy voice whispered: “Are you afraid of the dark?”

I screamed a blood curdling shriek, grabbed my sleeping bag and ran into the closest room I could get to, which happen to be a storage closet. I slammed the door behind me, wrapped the sleeping bag around my body so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

Not even a moment passed before the dark room was filled with laughter. A cruel, mocking laughter. I had been pranked. They thought it would be fun to poke fun and laugh at me. I wanted to charge out at them, yell at them, flip them the goddamn bird…but I couldn’t move.

The lights were still off.

I sat there in the dark, listening to there laughs and harsh words. What happened next…was like an incarnation of every nightmare anyone had ever had being born.

The laughter stopped and there was an eerie silence. Soon the silence was replaced with whispering…hissing…monstrous growling…

Suddenly screams and cries loud enough to make my ears bleed echo throughout the room. The others shrieked and cried in absolute fear. I could hear the sounds of them banging into things as they tried to run from whatever it was that made them scream. The closet door rattled in front of me as if it was about to be opened, but whoever tried to open it was dragged away. The sound of nails ripping against the carpet was able to make me move only slightly within the sleeping bag to be able to keep the door shut.

I squeezed my eyes closed so tightly it began to hurt, but even though I couldn’t see anything…I heard everything. The gurgling and choking of blood being caught in their throats, the sound of flesh being ripped and torn, of skin being pealed and bones snapping, of bodies being viciously mutilated. I suddenly felt a dampness where I was sitting. I froze even more if it was possible. Could I have possibly urinated from the shear horror and fear I felt?


At that moment, the smell of blood, musk, rot, vomit and shit and other bodily fluids that I don’t want to think of filled my senses. I nearly vomited from the stench but I quickly swallowed it back down. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t do a single damn thing.

All I could do…was wait...until the sun came up.

I must have passed out at some point. Because the last thing I could remember was waking up in a hospital with my hands covered in bandages, hospital tubes being down my throat, and IVs in my arms.

I had been in that closet for two days. The police had found me passed in that sleeping bag malnourished with weak breathing and hands bleeding due to my nails breaking the skin on my palms from holding the sleeping bag so tightly. I asked about the other kids who were with me, but they said they had no evidence of what happened to them or where they were.

Apparently, I was the only one there when the sun rose. No bodies. No blood. Nothing.

As if nothing had happened in that darkness.

I was questioned by the police but I told them I didn’t remember anything, then the doctors stated that it was possible that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder which caused my self conscious to block out whatever happened.

God, I wish that were true.

After a brief argument between the police, my parents and the parents of the ‘missing’ kids it was decided that despite me being the only witness, I had an alibi and was simply a victim.

Besides there was no evidence that led to me being the kidnapper or murderer or whatever they thought caused them to go missing.

For a while the kids’ parents blamed me for their children’s disappearance. I just ignored them. What else could I do? Tell them what really happened? Hell no. I would be sent to the loony bin faster than you can say creepypasta. So I didn’t say anything. Not a word.

Years passed and now that I’m older, I live in an apartment with two roommates. They’re both really nice and due to rent I have to share a bed with one of them. I don’t mind though. It’s a queen size. I’m even dating someone who likes me despite my paranoia. I’m actually living my life quite happily.

However... When the sun goes down… And nobody is home …I wrap myself in the covers and try my best to fall asleep quickly so I don’t have to hear the screams echo in my ears or smell the rancid odor assault my nose…

I’m not afraid of the dark.

I’m afraid of what lurks in it. The things that watch you while you sleep…

You should be too.

Because they’re not just watching me.

They’re watching you too.

And so long as the sun goes down.

They will never disappear.