You ever have something happen to you so insane, so unexplainable, that no one believes you—but you know, deep down, that it was real? This isn’t just a story. This is something that’s followed me my whole life. And it all started when I was just a kid.

You ever have something happen to you so insane, so unexplainable, that no one believes you—but you know, deep down, that it was real? This isn’t just a story. This is something that’s followed me my whole life. And it all started when I was just a kid.

I must’ve been five or six when we moved out to this house in the middle of nowhere. It was cheap—too cheap. My parents knew something was off, but when you don’t have money, you take what you can get. At first, it was peaceful. Quiet. The kind of place that makes you think, Yeah, we could be happy here.

The first night? Fine. Nothing weird. Second night? Seemed normal too—until I went to bed.

That’s when it started.

I was just about to fall asleep when my bed started shaking. Not just a little tremble—shaking. Hard enough that I felt it in my chest. I shot up, heart pounding, and ran straight to my parents’ room.

“They won’t believe me,” I thought. And I was right.

They brushed it off. Said I was just scared of the new place. So, I went back to bed. When I woke up… every single piece of clothing was off my body.

I was a little kid—I never slept like that. Never even thought to. But there I was, shivering, exposed, with no memory of how it happened.

The next night, I wasn’t taking any chances. I told my brother to sleep in my bed with me. “If it happens again,” I said, “I want someone else to feel it too.”

And it did.

But this time? It was worse. The bed wasn’t just shaking—it was lifting. Like something was trying to pull me away from the ground itself. My brother screamed. I screamed. We bolted out of that room, faster than we ever had in our lives.

Our parents still didn’t believe us. Two scared kids in a house surrounded by woods? Of course, we were just imagining things.

Then came the fourth night.

That night, I refused to sleep in my room. I crawled into bed with my mom, thinking I’d finally get some rest.

And then I had the dream.

In it, I was walking to the barn out back. The barn that was always locked. The barn we were never allowed in. I don’t know why, but in the dream, I had to go inside. The door creaked open, and then—

I woke up.

Except… I wasn’t in bed.

I was in the barn.

The real barn.

It was freezing. The air smelled like dust and something rotten. I was locked in. The heavy doors sealed shut from the outside. And I had no idea how I got there.

I sat in the darkness, shaking, too scared to cry. Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Voices.

My parents were yelling my name, their voices frantic, getting closer. I screamed with everything in me, pounding on the walls until my hands hurt.

I heard the bolt cutters snap through the lock, and then my dad yanked the doors open. The look on his face… I’ll never forget it.

But we never talked about it. Not once.

We moved out before the week was up.

Ever since that night, the dreams haven’t stopped. It’s like something’s calling me back. Like I left something unfinished. I’ve been smoking hella to keep the dreams away, but I have to quit soon.

And I’m scared.

Because I know—once I do—

It’ll find me again.