I Thought It Was Just a Dream—Until I Found the Bruises

I never believed in the supernatural. Ghosts, demons, spirits—those were stories we told ourselves to explain what we couldn’t understand. But then something happened to me that I still can't fully explain.

It started one night, just like any other. I was living alone in a small studio apartment in Islamabad, working remotely and keeping to myself. Life was uneventful, quiet—until it wasn’t.

I woke up around 3:17 AM, heart pounding like I had just run a marathon.

My room was pitch dark except for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside. My blanket was thrown across the floor, and I was drenched in sweat.

And I felt pain. A dull, throbbing ache on my left arm.

Still half-asleep, I reached over to turn on my bedside lamp. What I saw made me freeze.

A bruise.

Dark purple and oddly shaped, like a handprint — except not human. The fingers were long and oddly spaced, like claws.

My first thought? I must’ve hit something in my sleep. Maybe I tossed and turned more than usual. But the mark didn’t match the edge of any furniture in my room. I even checked.

I laughed it off the next day. "Sleep injuries," I told myself. "Nothing new." I moved on with my routine.

But then it happened again.

A week later, I woke up with a bruise on my thigh. This time, it was circular, like someone had pressed a ring or a coin into my skin with unnatural force.

That's when I started tracking things.

I downloaded a sleep tracker app. Set up a camera on my phone to record the night.

Even left the lights slightly on. I thought maybe I had a sleepwalking problem. Maybe I was doing this to myself.

But the footage was… strange.

On the first night of recording, around 3:15 AM, I saw myself suddenly sit upright in bed—eyes wide open. My body jerked unnaturally. I mumbled something I couldn’t make out.

And then I lay back down.

The next morning, I woke up with scratches on my back.

Scratches I couldn’t reach on my own.

It was no longer funny. I went to a doctor. She said it was probably parasomnia—some type of sleep disorder. Stress, she suggested. Maybe even suppressed trauma. She gave me sleeping pills.

They made it worse.

Under the influence of the pills, I didn’t wake up at night. But I still found new marks every morning. Deeper. Darker.

Then one night, something else happened.

The recording showed me sitting up again, like before. But this time, there was… movement. Behind me.

In the mirror mounted on my wardrobe, a figure flickered.

Pale, long-limbed, blurry—like static on a TV. It stood behind me for exactly 11 seconds. I didn’t react at all.

In the footage, I just lay back down. But my face… my face looked terrified.

I showed it to a friend. She said it was a trick of light. Compression glitch. "Delete the video," she insisted. "You’re freaking yourself out."

But I couldn’t.

I began researching sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, astral projection, anything that could explain what was happening. I even reached out to a spiritual healer.

He didn't laugh at me. He just asked me one question:

"Did you dream of someone calling your name?"

Yes. Repeatedly.

Always a whisper. Always from behind. And always just before I’d wake up.

He leaned forward and said, “Don’t answer next time. Not even in your head.”

That night, I didn’t record. I didn’t take the pills. I stayed awake, lights on, every muscle in my body tense.

At 3:14 AM, I must have dozed off.

When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t move.

Sleep paralysis. My body was frozen, but my eyes darted around the room.

Then I heard it.

A whisper. My name. “Junaid…”

I didn’t respond. Not aloud. Not in my head.

The whisper grew sharper, angry.

“JU-NAID…”

Something cold grazed my cheek.

I fought to scream. I willed my hand to move, my mouth to open, anything—but I was stuck. A prisoner in my own body.

And then I saw it—hovering above me. A pale face, eyes black like holes. Its hand was outstretched, almost touching my forehead.

And just before it did—

I woke up.

This time, the bruise wasn’t on my arm or leg.

It was on my neck.

A perfect circle.

Burnt into my skin.

I left that apartment the next day. Moved in with a cousin. I didn’t explain everything—I just said I wasn’t feeling well.

Since then, the bruises have stopped. The dreams too.

But I still don’t sleep in complete darkness. I keep the lights low. I never take sleeping pills. And I never—ever—answer when I hear my name at night.

Because now I know something.

It wasn’t just a dream.

And some things that touch us in the dark…

Don’t always go away by morning.