Death Was in My Room The True Horror Story of a Real-Life Encounter You Won’t Believe
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| Death Stares Back |
The Start of It All
Death was in the
room. I didn’t want to believe it, but I swear it was there. You ever feel something before you see it? Like the air changes… gets thick, sticky almost? That’s how it started. I’m not speaking in metaphors or trying to sound poetic this is just what happened. A real-life encounter with
death, and it’s something I’ll never forget as long as I live. I used to laugh at ghost stories. All those “true
horror stories” you see online about people seeing
death or talking to it? I thought they were fake or exaggerated at best. But that night in late October changed everything I thought I knew about what’s real and what’s not.
The Smell Came First
I noticed it right away. A weird smell, kind of sweet but rotten underneath like spoiled fruit and rusted metal. I tried to ignore it, figured something must’ve gone bad in the kitchen. But it didn’t fade. It got stronger. Heavier. The scent stuck in my throat and made me gag. I opened the window, sprayed air freshener, lit a candle. Nothing worked. It just kept building and building until I started to panic a little. And here’s the thing every
story about real encounters with
death mentions that smell. I used to think it was superstition. Not anymore.
Shadows That Moved on Their Own
The shadows started next. I was sitting on the couch, hands shaking from too much caffeine, when I noticed the wall clock had stopped. Just after midnight. Probably dead batteries, I thought. But then I noticed the shadows weren’t matching the light in the
room. They slid across the walls, stretching longer and longer, until one of them almost touched my foot. I told myself it was a trick of the eyes. You know, tired brain, dim light. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. The air was freezing, like the whole
room was holding its breath. I kept staring at the corner near the kitchen because I swear something was forming there like the darkness itself was gathering, building shape.
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The Breath on My Neck
I felt it before I heard anything. A cold, damp breath touched the back of my neck. Not wind. Not a draft. It was steady, wet, human. I jumped up, spun around fast enough to make myself dizzy no one there. My heartbeat was a drum inside my chest. Every time I tried to take a breath, something breathed with me. Like there was someone standing just behind my shoulder, matching me. That’s when I really got scared. That’s when I realized the stories about
death walking among us might actually be true.
I Saw Him
I didn’t want to turn my head, but my eyes went to the
bedroom doorway. Instinct, I guess. I wish I hadn’t. There was… someone there. Or something. He stood by the mirror, thin as wire, his skin gray and stretched tight over his bones. His lips were dark, cracked, and when he smiled, it didn’t look human at all. His eyes were bottomless black like holes burnt into reality. When he looked at me, it wasn’t like he was seeing me. It was like he was remembering me. Like he already knew me from somewhere. He mouthed something the words didn’t make a sound but I heard them anyway, inside my head: “You see me now.” I froze. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t blink. I thought maybe I’d gone crazy, that my sleep schedule had finally caught up to me. But the fear… the fear was realer than anything I’ve ever felt.
When Everything Stopped Working
He moved or glided, maybe. His limbs didn’t bend right, his neck cracked with each slow tilt. I tried to reach my phone, but my arm wouldn’t cooperate. It was like the air itself had weight now, pressing down on me. Every prayer I could remember came spilling out in broken half-sentences. Nothing helped. The
room grew so cold that my breath came out in white gasps, and his or whatever he was mixed with mine. I could feel him leaning closer, smell that rot again from his skin. It clawed at the inside of my lungs. He spoke without sound again, mouth barely moving: “You see me. You’ll see me always.”
The Moment I Fell
I don’t remember falling, but I must’ve. My head hit the hardwood floor, sharp pain, then silence. Before everything went black, I saw images flash like static in my skull cold
rooms full of bodies, faces screaming without mouths, a list of names scrawled into floorboards. I got the overwhelming sense that he wasn’t there to kill me… but to show me where I’d end up. And then there was nothing.
Aftermath
When I woke up, the sun was already up. My head throbbed, but I was alive. Everything looked perfectly normal no figure, no shadows, no smell. Except for one thing: the clock was still frozen at twelve, same as when it all started. Nobody believed me when I tried to explain. My friends joked that I’d finally lost it. Maybe I had. But that doesn’t explain the smell that sometimes creeps back in at night, or the way I still catch glimpses of something moving in mirrors when the light hits wrong. I moved out a month later. Didn’t pack much. Couldn’t stand to stay after that. Every so often now, there’s a cold breath at the back of my neck. Gentle, steady, familiar. I tell myself it’s nothing just my imagination. But sometimes, I hear him again, so faint I almost convince myself it’s just the wind: “You see me always.” And when I catch my reflection and the shadows don’t quite line up, I know he’s still there watching, building and building, waiting for the night I stop breathing and finally see him for good.
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