This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Sad_Ad7141 on 2024-09-27 18:14:44+00:00.
You ever have one of those moments where you blink, and everything feels wrong for just a second? Like the world hesitated and you weren’t sure if it was going to snap back to normal or collapse entirely? I’ve been living in that blink for weeks now.
It started a few months ago. I’d be sitting on the couch, watching TV, and suddenly, the corner of my vision would drift, like my left eye wasn’t all that interested in what was in front of me. I’d catch it focusing on something in the distance—a chair in the corner, the kitchen door, a speck of dust that I couldn’t see with my other eye. At first, I thought I was just zoning out, you know? Like when your brain checks out for a bit and you don’t realize you’ve been staring at the same wall for five minutes.
But then it got worse. I’d be walking down the street, focusing on where I was going, but my left eye would have other plans. It’d be looking at people. Not just glancing, but studying them. I’d be watching the sidewalk in front of me, and my left eye would be locked onto some random person across the street, following them as they walked. I’d blink and force my gaze back to the sidewalk, but my left eye would lag behind, still trying to watch that person until they were out of sight.
And the weirdest part? They would always look back. Without fail. Every time my left eye latched onto someone, they’d turn and stare right at me. Not in a normal “oh, we made eye contact by accident” kind of way. No, they looked at me like they knew what my left eye was doing. Like they could feel it pulling at them. I’d look away, but my left eye would keep trying to look at them, like a stubborn dog pulling at a leash.
By now, you’re probably thinking I should’ve seen a doctor. And yeah, that’s exactly what I did. Except, of course, they didn’t find anything wrong. 20/20 vision. Perfectly healthy. I even went to a neurologist. Nothing. No tumor, no weird nerve issues. So, I did what any rational person would do—I ignored it. Because what else are you supposed to do when your body starts acting out like a rebellious teenager?
Then, one day, my left eye stopped following my lead entirely.
I was at the grocery store, standing in the cereal aisle, debating whether I wanted to be an adult and buy the fiber-packed stuff, or just give in and grab the sugar bombs. Out of nowhere, my left eye locked onto something behind me. It wasn’t like before, where it would lazily drift to the side. No, it snapped to attention, so fast it was almost painful, staring at something down at the other end of the aisle.
I turned around, half-expecting to see some guy standing there, but no. There was nothing. Just rows of cereal boxes, an empty cart, and a faint buzzing from the overhead lights. But my left eye wouldn’t let it go. It was glued to something. I felt it pulling, straining like it wanted to step outside of my body and go wherever it needed to go.
I blinked, closed my eyes tight, tried to reset myself. But when I opened them, it got worse. My right eye was still staring at the cereal boxes, but my left eye? It had started turning, like it was trying to look behind me, inside me. I’m not exaggerating. It felt like my eye was physically twisting in its socket, trying to look somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. My vision blurred, but I could feel it pulling. I closed both eyes, and my left one twitched under the lid like it was furious I’d shut it out.
It didn’t stop. That night, while I was trying to fall asleep, my left eye stayed wide open. Every time I blinked, only my right eyelid would cooperate. The left would just… watch. Staring straight ahead, focused on something that wasn’t my bedroom ceiling. No matter how much I tried to force it closed, it wouldn’t listen. I lay there in the dark, one eye shut tight, the other one peeled open and staring at the darkness. I could feel it twitching, looking for something, hungry for whatever it had seen in the grocery store.
Then came the dreams. Or maybe they weren’t dreams. It’s hard to tell anymore. Every time I fell asleep, I’d wake up in my room, but it wasn’t really my room. Everything was off by just a little bit. The walls were too far away, or too close. The furniture was the same, but just… wrong. Like someone had taken a picture of my room and stretched it slightly, just enough to make me feel like I was inside the picture, not the actual room.
And always, always, my left eye was still open. Even in my dreams. Even when I’d sleep, I’d feel it watching, searching for something just outside my line of sight.
This night, though, it stopped being a dream.
I’d been lying in bed for hours, wide awake, eyes flickering open and shut. And no matter how hard I tried, my left eye refused to close. It just stayed open, wide and unblinking, locked on the dark corner of my room. I could feel it tugging, straining like it wanted me to look closer, like it wanted me to see what it had been seeing all along.
That’s when I noticed the shadow. It wasn’t a figure this time, just an outline, an absence of light, hovering in the corner of my room. My left eye latched onto it instantly, focusing harder than I thought was physically possible. My right eye, meanwhile, saw nothing. Just the same dark corner that had always been there. But my left eye? It was watching something move. Slowly. Towards me.
I sat up in bed, and the shadow stilled. But that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was that, for the first time, I could feel it. Not just see it. I could feel it inside me, pulling on that left eye like it was attached by an invisible thread. The more I stared, the more I could feel the room around me slipping, warping.
I got up, stumbled to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. I figured maybe I could just wake myself up from this, whatever this was. I leaned into the mirror, and that’s when I saw it.
My right eye looked normal. A little bloodshot, sure, but still mine. My left eye, though… it wasn’t there anymore. I don’t mean it was gone, but the reflection of it wasn’t right. The iris was gone, the pupil blown wide and black, like a camera lens that couldn’t focus. But it wasn’t looking at me.
It was looking through the mirror.
I staggered back, blinking hard, trying to shake the feeling, but the vision from my left eye didn’t change. It was no longer interested in me or my reflection. No, it was seeing something else entirely, something I couldn’t reach. Through my left eye, I could see the shadow again—this time not in the corner of the room, but behind the glass, like it had always been there, just out of reach.
It’s been hours since then. I’m sitting here writing this, trying to stay calm, but my left eye won’t close. It’s locked on the corner of the room again, except this time the shadow’s not hiding. It’s in full view. Not a figure, not a creature—just a blot of darkness that keeps shifting in the corner of my vision.
And the worst part? It’s getting closer. Not like a horror movie, where it suddenly jumps at you. No, it’s subtle. It’s easing its way across my field of view, growing wider, swallowing more of the room. I can still see normally with my right eye, but the left one’s gone. It’s not mine anymore.
I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know where it’s leading me. But I can feel it pulling, tugging.
And the closer it gets, the harder it is to look away.
If you’re reading this, I need you to know something: when you look in the mirror tonight, don’t trust what you see.
Because your eyes aren’t always looking back.