the pull

“There's someone in my room.”

That’s how it started.

Dad shot out of bed. Mom held me close.

He came back minutes later, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing there, Julia. Just a dream.”

Mom didn’t believe him. She squeezed my hand and followed me.

Dad was an atheist. Cold, logical.

But Mom — mom saw things. Felt things. Passed that down to me.

The room was just as I’d left it: lamp on, bed rumpled. But something was off.

The air felt warped, like a fisheye lens had swallowed the space. Shadows curved in strange directions.

The light looked wrong. Bent. The air had weight, and it was cold. 

We checked the wardrobe. Under the bed. Behind the curtains.

But I wasn’t looking for something – I was trying to avoid seeing it.

Something was in there.

Watching.

Its stare burned into my back like a laser. The hairs on my neck rose, my skin crawled.

But whenever I turned around — emptiness. Thick, pulsing, intentional.

Mom’s voice sliced through the room.

“Whatever you are,” Her tone was clear and sharp, “leave my daughter alone.” I guess she felt it too.

The room creaked — floorboard maybe. No, something heavier. Breathing? The silence was thick.

She looked at me, shaken.

“Do you want to sleep with us?” She whispered. 

I hesitated. I was scared. But proud. Brave. Maybe it was just my imagination.

“I’ll be fine.”

She left, reluctantly.

I crawled under the blanket, skin buzzing, heart hammering.

Didn’t turn off the lamp. Couldn’t.

The silence rang in my ears. It wasn't empty.

It listened.

It waited.

I curled tighter, my eyes clenched shut.

Time passed. My body warmed. My breathing slowed.

Almost asleep. Almost safe.

Then—

Someone yanked my hair.

Hard. Violent.

I gasped – maybe screamed – and shot upright.

But the room was empty. No sound. No one. No nothing.

Just the lamp. Just me.

This is a true story.

© 2025. All rights reserved.