Do you guys believe in horror stories? I know, many of you might roll your eyes, thinking they are just tales for entertainment, something to give you a thrill before bedtime. But what if I told you that some incidents, the ones you see in horror movies, are actually based on true events? Yes, like The Conjuring—a movie that shook people to their core, but it wasn’t just a fictional creation. It was based on real occurrences that happened in the USA, to a family who experienced things beyond comprehension, things that science and reason fail to explain.
These kinds of paranormal events happen across the globe. The Amityville Horror, another famous case, was a haunting so intense that it led to multiple books, movies, and even investigations. People in that house experienced voices, cold spots, and disturbing visions. These are not isolated stories. From haunted houses to people who’ve claimed to be possessed, the supernatural is something we can't always dismiss so easily. Many cultures believe in spirits, some benevolent, others malevolent. And sometimes, these entities attach themselves to people, whether through objects, emotions, or seemingly random moments. There’s a saying that when you feel a shiver down your spine, a spirit might be brushing past you. But what if that spirit stays?
These incidents are not just folklore. Around the world, countless people report hearing voices, seeing figures, or feeling presences they can't explain. Shadows that move without light, objects that shift on their own, and cold whispers in the middle of the night. Some are subtle, some, life-altering. Now, let me share my experience—a real story that I’ve lived through.
When I was younger, in class 6 or 7, I began to sense something. But not in the way you might think—not an immediate, terrifying experience. No, it was subtle at first, so much so that I didn't even realize it. I felt a presence, something dark, but I couldn’t describe it at that age. It was as if something was always there, in the background, but it didn’t scare me. Not then. I just felt... heavy. Not physically, but mentally. Like a weight that settled on my mind, pressing down slowly, making everything feel overwhelming, even when there was nothing particular going on. You know how your brain feels cluttered when you have too much to think about? It was like that, but more sinister, more unsettling.
At first, I brushed it off as normal. I was a kid after all, and kids don’t think much about these things. I would feel the weight, the darkness lurking, but it didn’t seem out of place. I wasn’t frightened. I didn’t even know enough to be scared. But then, as I grew older, as I became more aware, I began to understand that this wasn’t normal. Something was wrong. It was like something was with me, something that would come and go, and I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t know who or what it was, but it was there. And it wasn’t going away.
I shared this with only one person, someone close to me, someone I trusted. But they laughed it off, dismissing it as childish nonsense. "You're just imagining things," they said. "Nothing like that happens in real life." I wish I could have believed them. I wanted to believe that it was all in my head, that I was just overthinking, being silly. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. And now, I know that they wish they hadn’t dismissed me so easily.
You see, something happened after I told them. Something shifted. It was like they had taken on some of that darkness, some of that burden. I don’t know how to explain it, but after that, their life changed. Drastically. Things started going wrong for them, in ways they couldn't understand. We even drifted apart, separated by circumstances that neither of us could control. Maybe it was because they had taken something from me, something they shouldn’t have touched. It wasn’t their place to carry that burden, but they did, and now, their life has never been the same.
And here's the thing—I wanted to help. I tried to take it back from them. I thought maybe if I could undo what had happened, things would get better. But it didn’t work. It went back to them, again and again. And now, I can’t even help them. I don’t know what their life is like now, because we don’t talk anymore, but I can imagine. I know that whatever it was, that dark presence, is still with them. It’s still making their life a living hell, piece by piece, day by day. They might not realize it yet, but eventually, they will. It will take everything from them slowly, and by the time they understand, it might be too late.
As for me, I’m left with the guilt of knowing that I passed this on to them, even though I didn’t mean to. I live with the memories of strange sensations, whispers in the dark. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I can still hear it—the voice. "I will not let you live peacefully," it says. It used to make me sad, depressed even, though I never understood why. The feeling of despair would wash over me for no reason, leaving me drained and hollow.
It’s strange, isn't it? How something like this can slip into your life without warning, without explanation, and change everything. Some of you may think I’m crazy, that this is just another story to scare you. But it’s not. It’s real. And if there’s anything you should take away from this, it’s that there are things in this world that we can’t explain. Things that go beyond our understanding, beyond reason. And sometimes, those things are closer than we think.
For me, it wasn’t about hearing footsteps in the dark or doors slamming on their own. It wasn’t the classic horror scene where objects fly off the shelves or shadows creep along the walls. No, what I experienced was far more personal. It was subtle and slow, like a shadow lurking just beyond the corner of your vision, always there but never fully revealing itself. A constant pressure that gnawed at my peace, leaving me drained in ways I couldn’t explain.
But then came the voice.
I can still hear it, sometimes, in my mind, taunting me, reminding me of the power it holds. It wasn’t loud, not something that boomed or screamed. It was quiet, almost like a whisper, but so clear. “I will not let you live peacefully,” it said. And then it laughed—a chilling, mocking laugh that echoed deep within me. “Ha... ha... ha... ha…”
I wasn’t afraid at first. No, fear came later. At the time, I was more confused than anything else. Why me? What had I done to deserve this? I didn’t understand. All I knew was that it left me feeling empty, hollowed out by sadness and despair I couldn’t place. I didn’t know why I felt so low, so disconnected from the world around me. It wasn’t like anything was happening in my life to justify those feelings, but they were there, suffocating me.
And the worst part? There was no escape. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, the presence clung to me. Some days, it was worse than others. I would wake up feeling like there was a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, and no amount of deep breaths could lift it. On other days, it would be quieter, lurking in the background, but never completely gone. It was always there, waiting, watching.
The voice had become a part of me by then, a part I couldn’t get rid of no matter how much I tried. And then, the day came when I realized it wasn’t just affecting me. I saw how it was beginning to touch the life of the person I had shared this with. It started slowly, as these things often do. They didn’t believe me at first, thought I was being dramatic or silly. But after I told them, after they shrugged it off and went about their life, things changed.
I noticed the little things at first. Their energy seemed different, like they were carrying something heavier than they had before. Then came the bigger changes. They started losing things, opportunities slipping through their fingers, relationships crumbling for no apparent reason. And still, they didn’t believe. But I knew. I could feel it. That presence, that darkness—it had attached itself to them. It was wreaking havoc on their life just like it had done to me.
I wanted to take it back. I wanted to help, to fix it. But every time I tried, it resisted. It was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—impossible. The more I reached out, the more elusive it became. And now? Now, I can’t even try. We don’t talk anymore. Whatever connection we had was severed, and I’m left watching from afar, knowing that their life is being slowly, painfully drained by something neither of us can fully understand.
And here I am, stuck with the guilt. Guilt that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have shared this in the first place. That by opening my mouth, I passed something on to them that I had no right to. But what could I have done? I was scared, confused, looking for someone to validate my experience, to tell me I wasn’t crazy. Instead, I burdened them with something far worse. Now, I don't even know how much of their life has crumbled, but I know the darkness is still there, working in the background, taking piece by piece. It’s patient. It’s methodical. And eventually, they will feel it. They’ll know.
As for me? Well, I live with it. It never fully left, but it’s quieter now. It’s like it took a part of me with it, the part that made me whole. And now, I’m just here, going through the motions, knowing that something is missing. Knowing that the darkness is still out there, lurking, waiting for its next moment to strike.
And for those of you listening, wondering if any of this is real—believe me when I say, it is. There are things in this world we can’t explain, things that can’t be undone once they’ve been set in motion. And if you ever feel that presence, if you ever hear that voice, don’t ignore it. Don’t dismiss it. Because it’s real. And it’s waiting.
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