Home Alone

You'll probably think I'm crazy and paranoid, but trust me—I wouldn't want any of this to be true.

I was sitting at home alone, sipping beer and watching another TV show. It was already around three in the morning, and I was inexorably overcome with sleep. I turned off the computer, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, the beer came rushing out, and I had to get up. In the bathroom, out of habit, I didn't turn on the light, and that's when it all started. I suddenly remembered all my childhood fears and all the horror movies I'd seen throughout my life. A clinging fear enveloped me more and more, and now I was afraid to leave the toilet. But I finally overcame it and walked calmly to bed. The next morning, remembering this incident, I just laughed and immediately forgot about it. But the lower the sun sank, the more tension built. For some reason, I really didn't want to be alone at home. I even called a few people, asking if I could have a drink, but everyone was busy.

What happened next that evening changed my life forever. It was already getting dark, and I was sitting at the computer as usual. Then, unexpectedly, I heard a noise coming from the other room. I turned down the volume and heard it again. I thought it was the neighbors, but decided to check anyway. Walking down the hallway to the room it was coming from, I heard it again, and that's when I really got scared. It was the sound my parrot made when he banged his beak on the mirror. The cage was flimsy, so it rattled loudly. It would have been fine, but my parrot had died a couple of years ago. Overcoming my fear, I opened the door, but, of course, there was nothing inside.

An hour and a half passed, and a liter and a half of beer passed through me, and the fear gradually subsided. Remembering I had vodka in the fridge, I decided to "let's go for it," even though I'd never drunk vodka alone. Entering the kitchen, I again left the light on, and as soon as I opened the fridge, I felt a heavy gaze on me. In a second, fear turned to panic, but I was afraid to move. The light from the refrigerator was the only thing protecting me at that moment. Whatever was standing behind me, looking at me, began to draw closer. I stood there, staring at a piece of sausage, praying for a miracle. And it happened. The refrigerator beeped obnoxiously, reminding me not to leave it open for more than thirty seconds, and the gaze disappeared. Grabbing the vodka, I dashed into the room, turned on the light, played music, and sat there until morning, without sleeping.

After that, I was afraid to be alone at home for a week. I either invited friends over or stayed at theirs. And when I was finally alone, I turned on all the lights in the apartment and tried not to leave my room. I'd prepare food during the day and bring it into the room so I'd have something to eat at night, since I couldn't sleep properly. I might also add that I started drinking heavily. In a drunken stupor, everything seemed less scary. About a month later, everything somehow faded away, but I still kept the lights on everywhere.

Sometimes I thought about it all and eventually came to the conclusion that I was simply having problems with my head, since I'd never seen physical evidence of what frightened me so much. This thought was like the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. I promised myself that if this happened again, I'd simply make an appointment with a psychiatrist and we'd work through my problems together. But things turned out much worse.

One time, after drinking about three liters of beer, I fell asleep. Waking up in the middle of the night with a strong urge to pee, I got up and, on autopilot, wandered to the bathroom. As soon as I opened the bathroom door, I broke out in sweat and felt goosebumps running down my back. The light was only on in the bathroom. ONLY IN THE BATHROOM. Even though I had turned on every lamp in the apartment myself. Once inside, I latched the door and huddled in a corner, praying the light wouldn't go out. If it had gone out that day, I probably would have gone crazy.

In the morning, I found myself crying next to the bathroom. My bones ached—a good half of my nerve cells had probably died—but I didn't care. The main thing was that I was alive. The next week, I went on a drinking binge that I wouldn't recommend to my worst enemy. But drinking endlessly is impossible, and I didn't have the money for more. When I sobered up, I realized things had gotten even worse. Now I felt someone's gaze on me all the time, even during the day with the lights on...

I wish I could end my story here, but the most terrifying thing is happening right now, as I type this. The door to my room has a patterned, cloudy glass through which only silhouettes can be seen. For the past hour, I've been catching glimpses of movement behind the glass. I tried not to look at the door, but eventually, I couldn't help myself. Glancing at the door, I was overcome with indescribable terror. I saw him through the glass. I don't know what it is, but it's staring at me from behind the door, and I'm more scared than I've ever been in my life...