I know there are pages like reddit/nosleep or creepypasta, but I need people to know that this was real.
It's seven years ago, and I'm 15. After nagging for months to change my bunk bed to a low bed, I finally had one and I was so happy.
Until he showed up.
Now, you have to understand that around this time, I'm in a lot of emotional, physical and spiritual distress. Apparently, he comes to you when you are in a vulnerable state. I was battling depression, anorexia, self harm, loss of faith... the usual dramatic, depressing teenage stuff.
And then some other... things.
Very strange occurrences had been happening to me and my best friend— scratch marks, a supposed psychic told us we had 'something' following us and another 'something' trying to protect us. We even found an unexplained bee or wasp nest (I can't recall which) that looked like it had fallen from a great height, and smashed on the floor, in the middle of some ruins that we would hang out in every day. The bee's or wasps were spread out, all around in about a five meter radius, dead, every single one of them was dead. We had been here just the day before... it made no sense. There was nowhere it could have fallen from.
All around us from that day there was this constant feeling of just... terror. It was everywhere, even at school. There was something... purely evil, taunting us. It started hurting our friends. We had sudden feelings of falling and hitting the ground, as if from a great height even when we were stood on firm ground...wow... I've never made that connection before. The feeling we had of falling... hitting the ground... and the nest in the ruins. Until literally just now. Sh*t.We had that feeling first as we were next to it, trying to figure out where it came from. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.I think it's important for you to know that until minutes before writing this, I had never heard of The Hat Man. I was searching for suitable images and I came across this;
Although some people claim the Hat Man has attacked them, he is usually content just to watch.
Immediately, that feeling of terror washed over me. I had always called him the smiling man... now it makes sense I never found anything on him before. [You can find that page here if you wish. But please, be cautious. I don't know if he can be summoned in any way. More acknowledgement could mean more power. He might sense when you're taking an interest in him.]
Back to being 15.
Just before my bed changed, I start having panic attacks, every night for three months, maybe longer.I don't know why, it starts getting dark, and as soon as the sun sets behind the mountain, I freak out. I can't leave my room, can't go downstairs, not even to use the bathroom—there is nothing covering the two windows in the kitchen that lead to it. It's almost black outside. I'm pretty sure I even piss in a bottle once, to avoid going down there. It's that level of terror.
The only place I feel remotely safe is in a weirdly shaped corner of my room, next the door, under some shelves—curled up on the floor. I can see the whole room from that spot, including under my high bed, which had a desk, drawers wardrobe... and a hollowed out space in the middle you could enter from under the desk. I hate that space. I can't even count the amount of times I fall asleep here, wrapped in a duvet, tears drying on my face.
I draw pictures of demons; horrible, scribbled, malicious looking things. They scare me to this day, and that was seven years ago. I try overcoming my fear of these drawings on paper, by taping them to the side of my bed. If I see them every day I'll become numb to the feeling right? Wrong. I have nightmares they crawl out of the pages, and I see demonic arms and hands reaching for me over the side of the bed at night. I still have those pictures, somewhere.
It's a dark time... but sure enough I begin to slowly start feeling better. Well, started. I'm in bed, starting to fall asleep. It always takes me a long time, thanks to chronic back and shoulder pain, and lack of treatment. Usually three hours of tossing and turning... tossing... and turning... tossing...
I have my back facing the door and this feeling comes over me. It trickles, slowly at first, then, like a wave comes crashing down all at once. I am too terrified to move, I have no idea why. My breathing gets faster. I cling tighter to my toy monkey, an Orangutan, about the size of a pillow. I've had him since I was five, my brother was going to throw him away, but he made me feel safe. In return I kept him safe.
Why wasn't it working tonight?
I feel eyes. Watching me. Worse than that, there's a sense of malevolence: sinister and evil, taunting. I can almost taste the sadism filling my room. I am too scared to move, I don't even want to look around.
The next night, the same thing.
And the next.
For over a week; every night just this feeling of pure and utterly horrifying terror.
I start to look at sleep paralysis, a friends recommendation. That night, when the inevitable terror washes over me, I try to move. And I can. But I wish I hadn't. I first shove all of my pillows, cushions and soft toys against the wall to block the gap. I don't want anything to reach up that gap. Monkey is behind me, his long arms wrapped around me the whole time I'm turning around. Once I'm done monkey is in front of me, I'm clinging to him with everything I have in me. I remember burying my face into this toy I'd kept with me for 10 years, that had kept me safe for 10 years, my arms hurting from grabbing him so tight until I was ready to finally look up. Tears of fear roll down my eyes. I'm so scared, I can't even make a sound. I can see most of my room with one eye, the other buried into monkeys chest.
There is a man there. He's standing in my room, staring at me, smiling. His smile spreads wider, ear to ear, when I notice him. It's all I can see from under his hat, this huge, unnaturally wide smile. He's standing, two meters away from me in my bed. He's... It's standing just behind the streak of light let in from a small gap in my curtains, right by my door. More tears of fearful desperation roll down my eyes.
This continues, unchanging, for another two weeks. Every night I'm left for hours staring at this THING, grinning maliciously at me, cloaked and heavy in its malevolence. I feel sickness wash over me in my gut. A heavy weighted feeling, in the very pit of my stomach. Shards of ice feel like they're piercing my skull agonizingly, and disorientation washes over me, as all I can focus on is him.
He wears a long coat, almost like an old fashioned trench coat, but thicker and black, impossibly black, and a hat. Like a weird cross between a fedora and a top hat I haven't seen before. Both aged and yet totally timeless and dark. Blacker than ebony... it's almost like even the air surrounding him is darker than the usual shadows; like an Obscurus. I can't see the wall behind where he stands, as if he were a physical being.
Sometimes, he's nice enough to look up a little, so I can almost make out his eyes. They too, are dark. I can hardly make them out under all the shadows. Once or twice, they almost appear to have a red tinge to them. But it's his smile that gets me. He never stops smiling. When that smile widens, every time I notice him each night, I want to retch. Every night for three weeks. "What do you want?" I manage to sputter feebly one night.
He laughs, a low, rumbling treacherous laugh I feel in my bones. I feel a sickening sense of violation in my very f*cking soul. Every hair is on end, every nerve is on fire... every alarm bell is screaming in my head and it hurts—it physically hurts. I can't take this any more. I want him to leave me alone... Please just leave me alone please, please.
The next night is worse. When he appears tonight he's in front of the gap in the curtains. 1.5 meters away from my bed. Away from me.
"You have no right to be here!"
It doesn't sound remotely convincing. His smile widens, I feel his laugh, and he vanishes. Relieved, I eventually fall asleep.
But the next night, he's—no it's closer. It's much closer; too close. It could probably lean forward and reach me, with one of it's disgusting horribly long arms; about 0.5 meters now.
"You have no right no be here! Get. Out!"
Like smoke, he dissolves....Only to appear again just in front of the crack in the curtains. I can see no light shining behind him when he stands there. The sick f*ck is taunting me. My skin is crawling, my stomach is flipping over and over and over. I sit up. I can't take this torment anymore.
"Get the f*ck out of my room! You have no right to be here. Leave! NOW!" This time, I'm shouting. I'm done. I'm beyond done. It's been more than six months since I have any sort of decent sleep, six months of slowly being driven insane. My family is sleeping in the rooms next door, but I don't even care if they hear.
"I said get the f*ck out of my room! You are not allowed here anymore!"
The next night, it's not there. I sleep for six hours this night and its f*cking heaven. But it's too early for me to believe he's truly gone. Another night later, I come out of a strange lucid dream. I open my eyes suddenly, all I see is black. I look up and it's right in front of me, smiling, smiling smiling smiling. I feel a freezing, terrible yet soft pressure on the side of my head. I realize it's touching me. I'm locked in place, staring straight into its red tinged eyes. 'It's just sleep paralysis' I think to myself over and over. 'It's just sleep paralysis. It's just sleep paralysis. It's just sleep...' It dissolves again, appearing in it's original place, behind the gap in the curtains...
"You have no power here." My voice is firm, calm, determined. There's even anger rising up from my bones. And finally, one last time he smiles and I feel his laughter rumble through my body, filling my mind, paralyzing my body. And then he's gone.
I've never seen him since, and only ever heard a story or two floating around until today, when I found that article. I also found this. It's a collection of stories about this 'shadow figure', this demon, this....thing, that the creator has been collecting. I might even send mine in, but it's hard not to feel like I'm just crazy and other people might just be jumping on the bandwagon.
I know what I remember. I remember what I felt and what I felt was so disgustingly revolting, I've been terrified to even acknowledge it since. It was real. I've told three people about this, and now I'm telling the world. I'm telling you.
I'm really, truly sorry if this causes him to come after you. If it's any consolation, he tends to taunt people who are in emotional distress... then again that could make you feel worse. I'm sorry, I hope you're doing okay, and I hope he never makes you his target. The worst thing is, you might not even know he's been there, he likes to watch people sleep. Maybe he's already met you.
I'm sure there are ways to keep him at bay, but I've been writing and reading about him all night now, and I'm too exhausted to keep looking at words. My brain can't take in any more information tonight, I'm just going to go to sleep. God I wish I didn't live alone... well, alone with my son. I'm still adjusting, it's been a pretty tough time lately. We have to share a bedroom right now, and for once, I really don't mind.