It was a cold summer night in 2014. I was eight years old at the time.My family and I were visiting my grandparents in the village because of the holiday, and we had planned a huge feast.The drive there was torturous. I had been awake for 67 hours by the time we got in the car and started the journey. I was anxious; I felt dizzy, lightheaded, and nauseous.For an hour and a half, I stared out of the window, trying not to throw up. I counted every tree I saw — 629.That number still rings in my ears every time I think of that accursed day.
We arrived at the village safely and had a lot of "fun." If you could call it sitting at a table for five hours, listening to drunk relatives argue about politics, it was fun.My dad got drunk, so we decided to stay the night at my grandparents' house.I was lucky — I got the lone bed that stood in the corner of my uncle's room. The bed was uncomfortable; it screeched every time I moved, so I picked a position and stuck to it.It must have been around 3 a.m., and yet I still couldn't fall asleep.I lay flat on my back, counting the dark spots on the ceiling.Cold air brushed against my arm — the window was slightly ajar.I wanted to get up and close it, but then I realized something truly terrifying:I could not move a muscle.I was paralyzed from the neck down.
A cold sweat broke out over my body. My heart began to race; I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.Suddenly, the door at the far end of the room creaked open.The room was massive — at least 20 meters long.And there, standing in the doorway, I saw a figure I instantly recognized:my grandmother, a frail woman of sixty-three.
Before I could open my mouth to speak, she asked,
"Why aren't you asleep?"
There was something about her voice — it shook me to my core.I answered weakly,
"I... I can't fall asleep."
She ignored my response and asked again, but this time her voice was deeper, distorted — almost demonic.
"WHY AREN'T YOU ASLEEP?!"
Terror gripped me. I didn't know what was happening. I wanted to scream, to run — but I was trapped.I closed my eyes tightly, hoping it would all go away.When I dared to open them again, what I saw froze my blood:
My grandmother was no longer at the door.She was standing on my chest.
Her weight pressed down on me, suffocating me, pinning me to the bed. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.I looked up at her face, desperate for comfort, and saw only darkness.Her face was gone — swallowed by a swirling void, an inescapable cloud of blackness.
Then, with a screech that sounded like death itself, she screamed one last time:
"GO TO SLEEP!!"
I jolted upright.
Everything was back to normal.The room was silent.The door at the end of the room was shut and locked.And my grandmother was nowhere to be seen.