The Man in My Dreams Started Appearing in Real Life

I. The First Dream

It started three weeks ago.

In the dream, I was lying in my bed — the same one I sleep in every night — except I couldn’t move. Sleep paralysis maybe.

At the foot of the bed stood a man in a black suit, tall, face shadowed like someone had erased his features. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just watched.

I woke up gasping. Heart pounding.

It was 3:13 AM.

II. The Pattern

The next night, the same dream.

This time, he was closer — standing beside my bed.

Each night, he inched closer.

Fifth night: I felt him breathing.

Sixth night: I heard him whisper my name.

Seventh night: I woke up with scratch marks on my forearm. Three thin lines, like from fingernails.

I lived alone.

III. Real World Signs

During the day, things began to change.

I’d spot him — at the bus stop, in store reflections, across the street. Always just far enough that I couldn’t see his face.

One afternoon, I passed a group of tourists taking photos. One woman dropped her camera, staring at her preview screen.

“He was behind you,” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

She showed me the photo.

It was me — smiling. And behind me, the man in black.

No face.

IV. The Dream Journal

I began recording everything.

Time of dream, position of the man, feelings after waking up. The closer he came, the worse the nightmares got.

I even tried staying awake for two days straight. But when I finally passed out...

He was already sitting beside me.

He leaned forward and whispered:

“You’re making it worse.”

V. I Saw Him Awake

One night I snapped.

I left the house at 2 AM and went to a 24-hour café. Bright lights, open space, people around. Safe.

At 3:13 AM, I looked up from my coffee.

He was sitting in the booth across from me.

Other customers didn’t even react. It was like I was the only one who saw him.

I ran outside.

And he was already at the corner.

Waiting.

VI. The Therapist’s Warning

Desperate, I went to a sleep therapist.

She studied my dreams and drawings. When I showed her his image, her face turned pale.

“You drew this?” she asked.

“Yes. From memory.”

“This… is the Watcher. An archetype that appears in sleep disorders globally.”

She pulled out an old book. There he was. Same suit. Same shadowed face.

“But people don’t see him while awake,” she added.

“If you do, you’re no longer dreaming. You’re being watched.”

VII. The Disappearance

A few nights ago, I stayed at a friend’s house. Didn’t tell them anything.

We played games till 2 AM.

At 3:30 AM, I went to the bathroom. The hallway mirror was fogged.

And written across it:

“He’s behind you now.”

I didn’t look. I couldn’t.

In the morning, my friend was gone.

His bed untouched.

His phone was on the table, unlocked.

One photo in the gallery — a selfie of both of us, taken hours earlier.

But in this one, he was gone.

Only me.

And the Watcher.

VIII. The Ending

This will be my last journal.

I’m no longer sure what’s real.

Mirrors act strange. Screens glitch when I pass. And when I blink too long, I feel his breath.

I can’t sleep anymore.

But when I’m awake…

He follows.

And when I’m with people…

They vanish.

So if you’re reading this — and you ever dream of a faceless man in a black suit watching you…

Don’t let him get close.

Because once he touches you…

You don’t wake up.