Night of Fear

I'm an ordinary student, living with my parents in the Ochakovo-Matveyevskoye district of Moscow. Every weekend they go to the countryside, and I don't like freezing in a cold house and dying of boredom far from civilization. And this weekend I was alone at home. Everything was as usual - watching movies, texting with friends, it was a little boring. It was a typical winter night, the clock hands just before two-thirty. I was sitting in my room with my back to the hallway. The lights were out everywhere, my room was lit only by the computer monitor. I went to the kitchen to make some tea, turned on the lights in the hallway and in the kitchen itself. I fiddled with the kettle for about five minutes, then looked – the light in the hallway was out, but it was on in my parents' room. It seemed a little strange to me, but I didn't pay any attention to it. I didn't turn off anything, went to my room, drank my tea, and went to take my mug. I came back—what nonsense! The light in the hallway was now on, but it was out in my parents' room. I felt uneasy. I sat in my room at the computer, feeling tense. Another fifteen minutes passed. I had just calmed down when suddenly the light in the hallway behind me abruptly went out, and the entire apartment went dark. I jumped in my chair, stood up abruptly, and turned around. I couldn't see anything, only the pitch-black darkness of the hallway. At that very moment, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, goosebumps ran across my skin, and a chilly breeze blew into my room—the balcony I'd previously closed off in my parents' room had suddenly opened. And I became seriously scared. I didn't even think about turning on the light—I froze, rooted to the spot, it was utterly eerie...

Another minute passed, and my agitated breathing more or less returned to normal. Then suddenly a new wave began. This time, the kitchen window opened, creating a powerful draft with a wild roar, knocking over vases in the hallway. Overcome with fear, I quickly ran to the kitchen, slammed the window, then did the same with the balcony door. I glanced at the clock – half past three. The night was turning into a nightmare. I returned to the room, turned on the table lamp, and closed the door. I seemed to have calmed down. But no such luck.

"It" first came from the kitchen. I distinctly heard the sound of fingernails scraping the walls, deliberately designed to make that unpleasant sound clear to me. I turned pale, my heart beat twice as fast. I froze in my chair with the light on, trying to concentrate on the homepage of some website. Suddenly, the same scratching noises began in the hallway, in my parents' room, in the kitchen, and even on the glass—the window, thank God, was curtained. I sat there, glued to my chair, unsure what to do. The sounds were accompanied by a draft—the balcony doors and the kitchen window had opened again. Being no coward, but sensitive, I nevertheless overcame myself, put on my headphones, and turned on loud music. I sat like that for about two hours—staying put, not turning around, staring exclusively at the computer screen. I felt as if someone was watching me from behind.

At 6 or 7 AM, dawn began to break. I was sleepy, but the fear from the night's events kept me sitting in the same position. Finally, I decided to take off my headphones and turn around. Silence. Empty. She opened the door—sure, a draft had broken a vase on the dresser, but the kitchen window and the balcony door in the next room were closed. And, most interestingly, the wallpaper still had some small rough spots, scuffs, and tiny scratches.