It watches when you sleep

I used to think sleep paralysis was just a weird dream state — your mind wakes up but your body doesn’t. I thought it was science. Maybe some stress. Maybe not getting enough sleep. Something logical. Something safe.

But that was before it happened to me.

The first time was mild. I woke up in the middle of the night, heart pounding. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. I felt like something was in the room, standing in the corner. Watching.

But when I finally moved and turned on the light… nothing.

I tried to laugh it off. Googled it. Found articles that made it sound normal. Common. Harmless. So I didn’t worry.

Until it happened again. And again. And again.

Every night, the same thing. I’d wake up frozen in my bed. My chest heavy, like something was sitting on it. The corner of my room always darker than it should be — like it was holding something it didn’t want me to see.

But I could see it. Just barely. A tall figure. No face. Long fingers that twitched when I stared too long. It never moved. It just stood there.

Watching.

It didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

I stopped sleeping. I was terrified. I’d stay up until I passed out, only to wake up paralyzed and gasping, eyes wide open, staring at the thing in the corner.

Then one night, something changed.

It wasn’t in the corner anymore.

It was closer.

Right by the bed.

Its head tilted as it watched me. I could feel its breath—slow, shallow, wrong. My eyes burned from not blinking. I couldn’t look away. I tried to scream but nothing came out. Not even air.

Then its hand twitched again.

And it reached for me.

Just as its fingers touched my chest, I woke up — soaked in sweat, gasping like I’d been underwater for hours. My heart didn’t slow down for what felt like forever.

I told myself I was done. I didn’t care what doctors said. I bought blackout curtains. Poured salt around my bed. Slept with the lights on, phone recording all night. Every superstition I could find online — I tried it.

I was desperate.

One night, after weeks of terror, nothing happened. I slept through the night.

Then another.

Then a third.

I thought maybe I beat it. Maybe I scared it off.

Until I looked at my phone’s footage.

Three nights. Three recordings. All cut off at 3:14 a.m.

No static. No crash. Just — gone.

Then a fourth recording. One that didn’t cut off.

I hit play. The camera showed me asleep. Peaceful. But in the background… movement.

From the shadow in the corner, something stepped out. Slow. Intentional. It walked to the side of the bed and leaned down close to my face.

I wanted to turn it off, but I couldn’t.

It stayed there. Inches from me. Breathing.

Then — it looked directly at the camera. The screen flickered. For one frame, maybe two, its face filled the screen.

No eyes.

Just a mouth, wide and stretched and smiling.

Then the video glitched and ended.

The next night, I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. But even awake, even staring at the wall in the light of my phone, I saw the shadow start to grow again in the corner of the room.

It doesn’t just watch me when I sleep anymore.

It watches always.