Who’s That?
When I was seven, I woke up in the middle of the night with an earache. I decided to tell my mom and stepdad about it, so I walked out of my room—and saw something that filled me with dread. Someone was sitting on the chair in the living room about three feet away from my bedroom door. The person looked strange. The face was just kind of distorted. But it was dark and I couldn’t see well.
“Mom?” I asked. The person shook their head, and I started getting scared. “Mike?” The person shook their head again. I decided the best course of action was to go back to bed so I wouldn’t have to walk past this person. I climbed in bed and closed my eyes for a second, before opening them and seeing the person standing in my doorway, smiling madly and nodding furiously.
I screamed at the top of my lungs and closed my eyes. My stepdad came running out of his room in his underwear with a baseball bat. That was a scary sight in itself. When the lights came on, there was no one there. For the longest time, I told myself it was my cat, sitting on a pile of my clothes.