This happened to me a couple of years ago. I was dating a man at the time. Let me tell you right away: I'm in my early thirties, and he's in his late forties. We're both adults and quite sane.
It was February. I was at work from morning until night, and we didn't get a chance to meet for quite some time. Finally, we agreed to meet after work. The thing is, we couldn't go to my place because I have a mother and son at home, and we couldn't go to his place either, since he has a wife and two sons at home. So we always met in his car. In the summer, we'd drive out of town to "admire the scenery," and in the winter, we'd hang out in his garage. His garage was clean and decent, with a permanently open pit and a pile of odds and ends on the shelves. The garage faced a wooded area, like about fifty other similar garages nearby.
We were sitting in the car. He'd turned on the engine to keep warm, and he'd opened the garage door slightly so we wouldn't choke on the exhaust fumes. He'd secured the door with a piece of rebar—no one from outside could get in, even if they really wanted to.
We were listening to music, drinking cognac with candy from plastic shot glasses, and laughing. By the time it all started, we weren't even halfway through the bottle. And then suddenly we heard a sound. Anyone who's driven on a narrow road with bushes on either side knows that sound—branches scraping against the car's body. But this time, it wasn't just the sides that were scraping, but the underside of the car as well (and there was an open hole underneath!).
"What the hell? I'll go and check—maybe a dog ran in," my friend muttered and started to get out. I grabbed his hand in horror—what kind of dog could there be on all sides of the car, especially in a hole?
At the same time, I looked out the windshield and... saw nothing. The headlights were on, and until then I'd clearly seen the wall with the things hanging on it—a hose, a fire extinguisher, and a duffel bag—but now I saw nothing but pitch-black darkness. It was the same on all sides. I turned my head toward the man and saw that he was either asleep or unconscious. Terrified, I began shaking him. The scratching sound didn't stop for a moment. Panicking, I glanced out the window several times, only to see the same darkness there. I was tempted to peer more closely, but my subconscious told me better not.
Finally, he groaned and woke up, cursing slightly and wondering why he'd "passed out." I looked around again and saw the shelves and tools, the hose, the fire extinguisher, and the razor blade... It was as if the scratching sound had never happened.
I tried to find out from my friend what it was—he looked at me like I was an idiot. My romantic evening was ruined, and he drove me home. I went up to my apartment and called him from my cell phone to let him know I was okay. Meanwhile, I looked out the window at him pacing around his car, carefully examining the sides, as if he was looking for something—maybe he was looking for scratches.
I tried to bring the incident back to the conversation several times later, but he stubbornly avoided answering. We soon parted ways.
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