This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Vegetable-Host-9646 on 2024-09-25 16:39:40+00:00.
I’ve always been a night owl. College made it worse. I’d find myself up at 2 a.m., headphones in, trying to finish papers or mindlessly scrolling through social media. That night was no different. It was midterms week, so everyone in the dorm was either asleep or pulling all-nighters like me.
I lived on the second floor of my dorm. The building was old, creaky, and had been renovated so many times that it barely resembled the original structure. My room had a tiny window that overlooked the main courtyard, where a single, dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the sidewalk below. There was something unsettling about it, but after a few months of living there, I got used to it.
That night, I had my desk lamp on, headphones in, focusing on cramming for an exam. I had this playlist I always listened to while studying — instrumental, soft beats. But suddenly, in the middle of a track, my music cut out. I thought my headphones disconnected, but when I checked, everything was fine. I glanced at my screen, and there it was. The playlist had been paused. Not something I would normally freak out about, but I knew I hadn’t touched anything. My hands were busy typing out notes. I shrugged it off, thinking maybe it was just a glitch, and hit play again.
I got back into the zone, but a few minutes later, it happened again. This time, the volume bar started moving by itself. I stared at my screen, feeling my pulse quicken. My room was completely still. No air conditioner, no one else around. I restarted my laptop, trying to calm myself down. Technical issues, I told myself. Nothing more.
But when I opened my laptop again, things took a turn. My screen flashed — just for a second. It was quick, but I caught a glimpse of something. Someone. A shadowy figure, standing in the corner of the room on the screen, behind me. My breath caught in my throat. I spun around, heart pounding, but there was nothing. Just my messy bed and a pile of laundry. My heart hammered in my chest, but I tried to laugh it off, telling myself it was probably a reflection or a trick of the light.
I stood up and closed the blinds. The courtyard light flickered again as I did. The thought crossed my mind that maybe someone had been watching me from outside, but I quickly dismissed it. There was no way anyone could see up to my window.
An hour later, I decided to take a break. My roommate had gone home for the weekend, so I was alone. I grabbed my phone and headed to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall. The halls were eerily quiet at night, and the only sound was the faint buzzing of the old fluorescent lights.
As I entered the bathroom, I noticed one of the stalls was closed. The door was slightly ajar, but I didn’t think much of it. I went to the sink, splashed water on my face, and stared at my reflection, feeling the fatigue weigh on me. That’s when I heard it — the softest sound, like someone shifting their weight, coming from that stall. My stomach knotted. It was probably another student, I thought. But at this hour? I hadn’t seen or heard anyone else on my floor all night.
I waited a moment, but no one came out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Trying to shake off the creeping dread, I dried my hands and turned to leave. As I reached the door, I heard it again — a slight movement. This time, though, the door to the stall slowly creaked open.
I froze.
It was dark inside the stall, but I could make out a shape. It looked like someone was standing there, but they weren’t moving. I couldn’t see their face, just an outline. My first instinct was to apologize, thinking I’d walked in on someone, but something about the stillness felt wrong. My voice caught in my throat. I backed up a step, my heart racing.
Then, without warning, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
I stumbled back, my mind racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My body screamed at me to run, but my legs felt frozen in place. My eyes were locked on the stall, waiting for something—anything—to emerge from the dark gap beneath the door. But nothing happened.
The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the buzzing of the lights overhead seemed to grow louder, drilling into my ears. The only thing that broke the stillness was the sound of my own rapid breathing. Then, in the silence, I heard something. It wasn’t a noise I could easily identify, just a faint… whisper. Like a voice, but not quite. It was as if someone was trying to speak, but the words didn’t fully form.
I bolted out of the bathroom, not daring to look back. The hallway felt even longer now, stretching endlessly before me as I sprinted back to my room. My hands shook as I fumbled with the key, finally getting the door open and slamming it behind me. I leaned against it, heart still pounding in my chest, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I kept telling myself it was my imagination. Midterms stress, lack of sleep—it had to be that. But deep down, I knew what I saw. What I felt. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that something was watching me.
For the rest of the night, I couldn’t focus. I sat at my desk, staring at my laptop, but every creak, every distant sound in the hallway, made my skin crawl. I tried listening to music again, hoping it would calm my nerves, but as soon as I hit play, my laptop froze. The screen flickered again, just like before. And there it was, clear as day—the reflection of that same figure standing behind me. Closer this time.
I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. My eyes were glued to the screen, my breathing shallow, heart beating in my ears. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, too terrified to move. Suddenly, the figure leaned in closer in the reflection, and I could make out something that made my blood run cold. It wasn’t just a shadow—it had eyes. Dark, sunken eyes, staring directly at me.
Before I could scream, the screen went black. My laptop shut off on its own. I jumped up and ran to the light switch, flicking it on, bathing the room in harsh light. But when I turned around… nothing. My room was empty. No figure. No shadow. Just me, alone, in the dead of night.
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. The thought of closing my eyes and waking up to that thing hovering over me was too much to bear. I kept the lights on, my back pressed against the wall, waiting for the dawn to break.
The next morning, I decided to leave campus early and head home for the weekend. I didn’t tell anyone what happened. How could I? I’d sound crazy. But as I packed my bag, I noticed something odd. My window, the one I had closed the night before, was wide open. The blinds swayed slightly in the breeze. I rushed over and shut it, but the courtyard light outside was no longer flickering.
I told myself it was nothing. A mistake. I had probably just forgotten to latch the window properly. But as I grabbed my bag to leave, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. A piece of paper, folded neatly, was sitting on my desk. I knew for a fact it hadn’t been there the night before.
With trembling hands, I unfolded it. Scribbled in messy, almost childlike handwriting were three words:
“I see you.”
I dropped the paper, feeling a cold sweat break out on my forehead. There was no way anyone could have gotten into my room. No way someone had left that note without me noticing. My door had been locked all night.
The thought of staying another minute in that room made my skin crawl. I grabbed my things and practically ran out of the building, not stopping until I was safely in my car, on the road back home. But the whole drive, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see those dark eyes staring back at me.
I never went back to that dorm after that weekend. I told my roommate I’d be staying with a friend for the rest of the semester, and I did. Whatever was in that room… I didn’t want to find out.
Even now, years later, the memory haunts me. I still wonder what I saw, what that figure was. And every once in a while, when I’m alone at night, I swear I hear the soft creak of a door, slowly opening behind me.