When I Woke UP

This happened on a Sunday night. I went to sleep around midnight, thinking nothing of it. Just another night, nothing unusual.

Then it started.

I was back at my grandparents’ house in a small southern town in Louisiana. The house looked exactly how I remembered it—low ceilings, worn wooden floors, and shelves lined with glass bottles filled with things I never dared ask about. Oils, roots, powders. Remedies my grandmother trusted more than doctors.

But something felt off.

The air was thick. Not just warm—heavy. Like it was pressing down on everything inside that house.

Family filled the rooms, voices overlapping, but there were others too. People I didn’t recognize. They stood in corners, gathered in quiet clusters, whispering low enough that you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

They didn’t laugh. Didn’t greet anyone.

They just watched.

My grandmother grabbed my arm, pulling me close enough that I could feel the tension in her grip.

“Stay near me,” she said. “And don’t look at them.”

Her voice wasn’t loud—but it carried something in it that made my stomach tighten.

I nodded. I didn’t ask questions.

I just listened.

But the longer I stayed, the worse it felt.

The house grew hotter, the air sticking to my skin. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t take a full breath. The whispers seemed to get closer, even when no one moved.

I needed air.

Without saying a word, I slipped toward the door and stepped outside.

The porch creaked beneath me as I closed the door behind me. I expected relief—the cool night air, a breeze, something.

But it wasn’t better.

It was still.

Too still.

The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel natural.

I walked over to the porch swing and sat down, pushing myself gently.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

The slow rhythm should have calmed me.

Instead, everything around me went quiet.

Not normal quiet.

Empty quiet.

Like the world had paused.

That’s when I saw her.

At the edge of the porch light.

Standing just far enough to almost disappear into the darkness.

My stomach dropped.

I knew who she was.

The one my grandmother warned me about.

I froze.

She didn’t walk toward me.

She didn’t move at all.

But somehow—

she was closer.

Then closer again.

Before I could react, she was right in front of me.

Then on me.

Her weight pinned me down against the swing as she straddled me, her hands wrapping tightly around my throat.

Her face lowered toward mine, her eyes empty but focused.

Her mouth opened.

And I felt it.

Something being pulled out of me.

Not my breath.

Something deeper.

My chest burned as panic flooded through me. My hands trembled, trying to push her off, but my body wouldn’t listen. My voice was gone. My lungs strained.

She kept taking.

Slow. Steady.

Like she had all the time in the world.

My vision blurred. The edges of everything darkened as my strength faded.

And then—

I woke up.

I sat straight up, gasping, my chest heaving as sweat clung to my skin.

My hands flew to my face.

My lips throbbed.

When I touched them, I winced.

There was a bruise.

I stared at my hands, trying to make sense of it.

It was just a dream.

It had to be.

But something wasn’t right.

The room felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too heavy.

I looked around slowly.

These weren’t my walls.

This wasn’t my bed.

The air carried the same weight as the house.

My stomach twisted as my eyes moved across the room.

And landed on the shelf.

Glass bottles.

Different shapes. Different sizes.

Filled with things I didn’t recognize.

But I knew what they were.

My chest tightened.

“No…” I whispered.

From the hallway—

I heard it.

Whispering.

Low. Soft. Close.

My heart started pounding again as I turned toward the doorway.

Shadows moved just beyond it.

Not clearly.

Just enough to know they were there.

Watching.

Waiting.

I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touching the floor.

The wood creaked.

The whispering stopped.

For a moment—everything went still again.

Then a voice came through the dark.

Soft.

Familiar.

“Stay near me…”

My breath caught.

It was my grandmother’s voice.

But it didn’t sound right.

Not warm.

Not protective.

Something underneath it felt wrong.

Like it wasn’t meant to comfort me.

Like it was meant to keep me exactly where I was.

I stepped toward the doorway anyway.

Because I needed to know.

Because I needed to see.

And just before I reached it—

I felt something behind me.

A presence.

Close.

Too close.

A hand brushed lightly against my shoulder.

Cold.

Slow.

And a voice whispered right beside my ear—

“You didn’t wake up.”