The Man Who Watches Me Sleep Every Night. And Only I Can See Him

The Man Who Watches Me Sleep Every Night, And Only I Can See Him

A psychological horror with a ghost… or something worse.

I used to be a rational person.

Written By [Farooq Hashmi]

I paid my bills on time, double-checked my doors before sleeping, and never believed in ghosts. Nightmares were just stress, shadows were tricks of the eye, and insomnia was cured with tea, not terror.

That was before he came.

The man who watches me sleep.

Every night.

It began subtly.

I’d wake in the middle of the night with the distinct feeling of being observed. A crawling sensation along my spine, as if someone was just beyond my vision, smiling in the dark.

I live alone. Always have. No pets, no roommates, no boyfriend just a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a decaying brick building where the heat only works when it wants to.

The first time I saw him was three weeks ago.

I was half-asleep, caught between dreaming and waking, when I opened my eyes and saw him: a tall man, shadow-thin, standing at the foot of my bed, head slightly tilted, hands folded in front of him.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

He just watched me.

I blinked and he was gone.

The next morning, I blamed it on a dream.

Maybe sleep paralysis. Maybe a trick of my anxious brain.

But then he came again. And again. And again.

Always between 2:50 and 3:15 AM. Always the same: tall, pale, with no features I could remember, yet I knew it was the same man.

It wasn’t just the sight of him.

It was the feeling.

When he was near, the air turned thick, like trying to breathe underwater. My limbs would go cold. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t move like my body was frozen in dread while my heart screamed for escape.

Then he would vanish, and I’d be left alone, shaking in the dark, drenched in sweat.

I tried everything.

I sprinkled salt around the bed. I lit candles. I kept a Bible under my pillow even though I haven’t prayed in years.

I told myself I was losing it.

Until I saw him while awake.

I was brushing my teeth, half-dressed for work, when I glanced at the mirror… and saw him standing behind me in the hallway.

I spun around. Nothing.

I stared at the reflection again. He was still there, still Watching.

I smashed the mirror.

Glass shattered everywhere, but he was gone. For that moment.

I stopped sleeping.

Four days passed. My eyes burned, my hands trembled. I called off work. My friends told me I sounded paranoid.

My therapist suggested trauma, sleep deprivation, unresolved grief. She prescribed pills I didn’t take.

Because this wasn’t in my head.

He was real. I could see him.

But no one else could.

One night, I invited my friend Maya to sleep over. I didn’t tell her the full truth, only that I was feeling off and needed company.

We watched movies, laughed, drank tea.

At 3:07 AM, I opened my eyes. He was there. Right next to her side of the bed. Watching me.

I reached over, whispered, Maya… please, look…

She stirred, looked around, then frowned.

There’s nothing there.

But I could see him.

He smiled.

I think that was the first time I screamed.

The days blur now.

I don’t leave my apartment. I barely eat. Every night, I sit in bed, lights on, waiting for him. I try to record him, nothing appears on video. I tried to sketch him, but every time I draw, the face changes, like it won’t let itself be known.

Is he a ghost?

Or something else?

A hallucination? A punishment?

A part of me?

Tonight is different.

He’s closer now. Sitting on the edge of my bed.

He’s speaking not aloud, but into my thoughts.

You’re almost ready.

Ready for what?

He reaches out his hand long, cold fingers brushing my cheek.

And for the first time, I don’t pull away.

Maybe sleep is just a wall and he’s been waiting for me on the other side.

Maybe I’m not awake right now.

Maybe I never was.

✍️ Writer’s Note:

Some visitors don’t need to knock. Some just wait… until you're too tired to resist.

If you ever feel watched at night don’t look. And above all… don’t acknowledge him.