ByMichelle Siouty, writer at Creators.co

One night I was fast asleep in the comfort of my bed, when I randomly was startled awake. I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, wondering why the hell I was awake at such an ungodly hour.

I turned over and as my eyes began to flutter, prompting me back into dreamland, I suddenly heard my name.

Very faintly, I heard my name being called very quietly, until suddenly a little more loudly. I immediately started breathing heavily and pulled my sheet over my head.

I fell back asleep immediately, only to wake up the next morning. I never told anyone what had happened that night, but just thinking of it sends a shiver down my spire.

Check out these true scary stories told by everyday people. It will make you really consider the possibility that some dark and evil spirits inhabit this earth with us.

7. I Wonder Who Roy Is

Story from arewemenoramidevo

I come down to the kitchen for breakfast on a Saturday morning. My mom and my sister are already up, and they look exhausted. My mom asks, "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah," says I.

"Even after you woke up?"

"...I woke up?"

Sometime in the middle of night, I had started screaming. My mom rushed into my room and found me sitting up in bed, screaming, "ROY! ROY! ROY! ROY!" She did her best to calm me down while shooing away my pissed-off sister who had stormed in to find out what the fuck was going on with me. She asked me who Roy was, but I would only say that he was "a bad man." I didn't say anything but "Roy is a bad man."

I'm shocked as they're telling me all of this. And they're surprised that I don't remember — but then again, I'm the sound sleeper of the house who can doze through lightning storms. We write it off as some weird nightmare that I don't remember.

Years later, I'm off at my first year of college. My mom sends me a videotape in the mail; she didn't mention it before I had left, as in "Hey, keep your eye on the mailbox" or anything. I press play, and it's my mom taking a video camera through our house. She was moving, and sent the tape as one last walk through of the now-empty house before she left. It was sweet and a little tear-jerking, until she said, "So, here's something you might find interesting," when she approached a closet in her bedroom.

This closet, aside from being the hiding place for all the Xmas gifts, was also always packed full of old luggage and other odds and ends. You could only go three feet in before you would have to start climbing on things to go farther. She goes in with the camera and I see that there are purple crayon drawings on the wall, down at the height where a small child would draw. There are random scribbles, some stick figures, something that may have been a dog. I was already puzzled, because I had no memory of ever playing in this closet and I don't know how I would have drawn on the walls when they were, in my mind, always covered.

Then the camera comes to a word on the wall.

ROY

And my mom must not have remembered that night. She said on the tape, "Roy...I wonder who Roy is."

6. He Is Not A Very Nice Man

Story from VioletK

When I was 17 years old, I was an avid romance reader. I'd sneak all of my mother's Harlequin novels and lock myself in my bedroom and just absorb all of it's cheesy, dramatic, goodness. So when I started dreaming of this dashing, young fellow in a breezy, ruffled, white shirt (think Fabio or whatever any man on a historical romance novel would be wearing) and riding boots, I was ecstatic.

His name was James and he had this old time, English accent that I couldn't quite place. The dreams started out naturally, once a month he'd pop in, sometimes twice. Then it became more frequent, 1-2 times a week. It would always start the same, I'd be dreaming of myself sleeping in my bed and I'd wake up to find him standing in my room. His eyes glowed this vibrant green and he kept pushing his ruffled hair back in this sexy way. The way he looked at me is what I became obsessed with. There was this yearning, this deep devotion to me. I would wake up thinking, "that's what it feels like to be in love".

He would always approach me slowly, hesitant to make sure I wasn't scared. Then he would tell me I was beautiful and ask me to dance. Music would appear out of no where and I would look down and find myself in this beautiful, laced nightgown and flowers in my hair and we would waltz in moonlight (can you see why a 17 year old girl would just become obsessed with this?) I would become so eager to go to bed, sometimes forcing myself to sleep by 7:00pm just so I could see him.

Meanwhile, things in my waking life were becoming strangely dark. My music player would turn on in the middle of the night, full blast, waking the entire house. I'd be doing homework at my desk and would continuously see something from the corner of my eye. One time, with the house to ourselves, my best friends and I were all piled into my bed, eating cookie dough and watching reruns of "Cops" when we heard a male voice talking from the bathroom just down the hall from my bedroom. At first, we didn't think anything of it. Perhaps my Dad came home earlier than expected, or my brother. We were a family of five with an open door policy for friends. It was rare that we were alone.

The voice kept going on and on, until finally, my one best friend asked me who was here? I muted the TV and we listened and then I realized, the voice had an accent. I got this terrible shiver down my back and I yelled out "James?" and suddenly, the voice stopped. I finally told my best friends about my dreams and their faces went white. Two nights later, I dreamt the same dream. I was dancing with James but the energy was different. His grip on me was firmer and as we danced, the whole time he was growling in my ear, "you are mine and no one can have you".

A week later, I begged my mother to let me move out of that bedroom and come upstairs (it was in the basement). My younger sister switched with me and she stayed there for years. My dreams, gone.

A little over a year ago now, my sister and I were helping my mother clean out the room so she could transform it into her own office. My sister and I were going through things and she randomly started laughing and said, "James won't like this".

I have never felt more cold or sick or terrified in my life. "What did you just say?"

She looked embarrassed, and waved her hand to pass it off before carrying back to the boxes.

"James, English man who dances?" I asked.

She nodded. "He's not a very nice man".

5. Peek-A-Boo Blue

Story from Thanks

We bought a 50's bungalow a few years ago; the original owner had passed and we were the first people to live there since. My daughter's bedroom was on the far side of the house from mine, and was always colder than the rest of the house. We chalked it up to poor insulation in that room. Every night I would hear her talking to someone; just thought it was baby-sleep babbling. She was about 2 at the time. Then she started talking to someone in the daytime too. I asked her about it, she told me it was the "Blue faced mommy". The "mommy" wanted to play peek-a-boo with her all the time, and wouldn't leave her alone.
She said she would wake her up in the night to play peek-a-boo. It freaked the shit out of me. I talked about it with one of the older ladies in the neighbourhood, who knew the original family. Apparently their oldest daughter had suffocated herself in the house after giving birth to a still-born child. (Not sure how she "suffocated herself", the neighbour didn't have a lot of details, it happened in the early 70's.) I am certain that she was the "blue faced Mommy" my daughter was talking about. A friend told me she had read the best way to deal with lingering spirits was to politely ask them to leave. So one night, when my girl was woken up I went to her room and politely said "Please ma'am, your family has moved away, we need you to go now." And after that, nothing. I still get chills thinking about it.

4. The Deceiving Blonde Little Girl

Story from Lady Sparrow

I lived in a house from hell for four years, from age eleven to almost sixteen. There was constantly something happening. Doors flying open and shut, voices, footsteps. Nothing ever stayed where you put it. I was alone there a lot because both my parents worked and I was constantly terrified.

One of the most gut-level disturbing things though was the little girl in my bathroom. Every time I walked past my bathroom door (which was constantly since it was right outside my bedroom) I saw a little girl with blond curled hair and a rose-colored dress. She just stood there, staring, looking like a photograph from 1905. I started keeping the door closed so I could walk by without seeing her, but she was always there when I opened it. Once I stepped in past her, I couldn't see her anymore but I could feel her there. She scared me, but I felt really sorry for her because she was trapped there, just like me, but probably forever.

As the years went by and things in the house continued to get worse, she started seeming... darker. I started feeling like she wasn't really a little girl. I knew there was something ugly in the house and I felt like it was presenting this sympathetic image to me. Then I started thinking I was completely losing my mind.

One day, when I was 14, I had a friend from out of town come stay with me for a week. I hadn't told her anything whatsoever about the house because I didn't think she would come if I did. Right after she got there we were sitting in my room and she left to go to the bathroom. About a minute later she walked back in with a puzzled look on her face and said "So, there's a little girl in your bathroom". "Um, I, yeah she hangs out in there. Blond hair?" "Curls? Pink dress? Yeah. You know that's not really a little girl, don't you?" I almost threw up. I was so relieved and terrified and excited and ready to run out of the house screaming. She wouldn't use my bathroom the rest of the week and I started using it as little as possible without pissing off my parents (who did not want to believe).

Eventually we moved out and I could not have been happier. I distanced myself from it mentally as much as I could.

Then, when I was 18, I took another friend on a road trip to pack up a few things I'd left in the house (my parents hadn't managed to sell it, and wouldn't for 5 more years). The minute we got on the property, my friend seemed uncomfortable. When we came around the bend in the long, steep driveway, he went completely white. I could tell something was wrong, but he insisted he was OK, so we got to work. After a while he asked to use the bathroom and I directed him to mine. Not 20 seconds after he left, he came running back in, gasping for breath, andand slammed the bedroom door behind him. He started babbling about a little blond girl who isn't really a little girl. All of a sudden he went dead still, looked me in the eye, and very solemnly said "She's not happy. With you. You left, and you weren't supposed to". We threw whatever we could grab in two trips in my car (after I walked him to another bathroom and waited outside the door) and got the fuck out at top speed.

3. The Pale Blue Boy

Story by iNvDrZiM

My younger sister (4 at the time) had been having trouble sleeping, so my mom had made it a point to wait in her bed with her until she dozed off. Normally she'd go to my parent's bed after that but this time she was very exhausted for a trying day at work - so she fell asleep alongside my sister. In the middle of the night she says she was woken up by the sound of crying/fussing and assumed it was my sister, so she rolled over to hold and get her back to sleep. When she rolled over and reached out her hand the thing she rested on was extremely cold to the touch.

It was at this moment that she realized my sister was not on that side of her, and she opened her eyes. To her amazement (and presumably dread) there was a little boy that had pale blue skin. He was crying and the only thing my mother could think to do was pray - but when she began to pray the little boy stopped crying and became angry. He yelled "stop it! stop! don't do it!" but my mother kept at it. He finally disappeared and my mother "woke up".

She tried to think nothing of it until my little sister started talking about how her "friend" was mad at her, and didn't want to come back anymore. My mother then asked who her friend was and my sister said "Peter, the little blue boy."

2. The Clown Doll From Hell

Story from JWLane83

When my step-son was four, he woke up with scratches and cuts on the bottom of his forearms. Being four, he hated having his nailed clipped, so we assumed that he was scratching them at night, either due to dreams, or itching. He went to the doctor and they did the allergy tests and he was clear, except for being mildly allergic to cats. We had no pets at the time, so it didn't really help us figure out what was going on.

The scratches continued for a while, with children services getting involved, though never finding any other indication of abuse. They never stopped.

He finally told us that he was having bad dreams. He had a developmental delay, so he had hard time talking to people and was extremely shy. Because of his condition, he had a hard time expressing what was in the dreams. He drew a rendition of an almost pitch black hallway, complete with cobwebs, and told us that someone was hurting him in the hallway.

One time, we were talking to a family friend who was into ghosts and the occult, when this situation came up. She asked if we had received any gifts lately or antiques, but neither of us could recall anything. The family friend asked us to go through his toys and other things in the house to see if any of it made us uncomfortable. We did. In his closet, we found a medium sized clown doll. It gave us the creeps. I. Hate. Clowns. Throwing this thing away was good news for me. We could never really remembered who gave it to him, but chalked it up to my aunt who collected antique dolls and figures, who assumed that everyone loved them too… I took the clown to the dumpster for our building and figured it was over.

He went to bed that night. I had drifted to sleep on the couch right outside his bedroom. Then, suddenly, I was awake in a dark, chilly room. I could just barely make out some shadows in the deepest corners, so I called out. No one replied. I could hear faint echoes, but didn't understand what they were saying, if anything. I stuck my hands in front of me to try and feel for a wall, then took a step. I could feel cold wet stones with my right hand and followed it warily down the hallway, with my left hand in front to knock down the cobwebs. I could feel a presence, something in front of me, but couldn't make it out with my eyes. Then it attacked me. It's all I could do to keep my arms in front of my face to block the blows like a boxer protecting his head. I was being bitten and clawed viciously. Then I woke up. Terrified beyond belief, with bloody, scratched, bitten forearms…

1. The Last Breath

Story from CatCheese

For background: I have always been an "active," for lack of a better word, sleeper. When I was a kid, I did a ton of sleepwalking. As I got older, the sleep walking stopped but I started to do a LOT of talking. The talking has been described to me by boyfriends and my now-fiance as being more of a sleep panic than anything else. My ex didn't even realize I was sleeping and assumed I remembered these episodes, so he didn't tell me about them until it had been going on for months because he thought I know about it. A lot of the time, I'll jolt up and insist there is something on me—bugs, usually—and I'll beg and plead for my bedmate to please "get them off me." This seems to be correlated to stress (it would happen most during finals week in college, or whenever something else was stressing me out) so I never thought much of it. It's just a weird sleep tic, and I'm always exhausted because I spend part of my night panicking.

My fiance and I live in a four-unit building that has been around since about 1920. It's a spooky house just in general. We swear we've seen things out of the corner of our eyes, we swear we've heard footsteps creaking on the hardwood floor, we both have noticed a very faint, low din, like old-timey music is playing in another dimension just far enough away that it's hardly noticeable (now I sound crazy)—and a few nights in a row around 3:00 am the TV shot on by itself and just played snow. One time my ex saw a coke can move across the coffee table on its own, but I cannot attest to that because I didn't see it (but in the kitchen once, the bottle of dish soap started wobbling on its own once). But aside from those few anecdotal things and general creepy feelings, nothing TOO bizarre has happened since living there.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to bed before my fiance, and he heard me start up my sleep talking. A lot of the time when I talk, it's either the panics (as stated above) or it's just pure garbledyguck nonsense. This time, he recalls me talking very distinctly and clearly, as if I was talking to a person: "Yes, I like breathing," as if I was answering a question. And then, I started to struggle to breathe, gasping and sputtering for air, until I eventually woke myself up. When I woke up, I literally thought I was dying. It was so difficult to breathe and I was gasping and gasping for air, it felt like I hadn't taken a breath in a minute or two and I was just able to grab some air for the first time. My fiance rushed in and tended to me until I was able to breathe normally, and I fell back asleep. In the morning he explained that I had been talking to myself about how I really enjoyed being able to breathe before the episode, so it wasn't like my airways were blocked like sleep apnea or anything like that...because I HAD been breathing and talking normally.

I'm sleeping with the lights on tonight. These true stories chill me to the bone!

I wish I could train my pet chinchilla to be a paranormal guard animal. Especially if I hear that creepy voice in my ear calling my name again.

[Source: Jezebel, Jezebel]

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