“My grandmother swore by this story till her dying day. It was during the war in London, and my dad was a baby. She was bombed out of her house and was staying with a friend. The friend had set her up in a room on the top floor. Anyway, she was taking my dad upstairs to bed when a figure materialised on the stairs telling her not to sleep in that room tonight. She noped back down stairs and told her friend that she, and my dad, were sleeping in the sitting room that night. Her friend was annoyed but agreed. That night a bomb exploded near the house and the roof caved in, right on top of my dads cot – he would have been killed.”
“I had awesome parents who let me sleep in the living room on weekend nights when I was very young because my sister was a light sleeper and I could stay up until dawn. But of course I always end up sleeping on the couch because Nick At Nite made me tried.
So, one night I wake up to the prickly feeling. Like an instinct. Just bolted into a sitting position and stared out the front window. We lived in rural Georgia, so you can imagine the magnitude of trees. In perfect light cast from the moon, I see a silhouette of someone in this fucking tree. The family dog dashes to the window and is snarling into the glass.
Terrified, I run into my parents room and try to explain to my parents that there is a strange person outside. Dad grabs something defensive and darts outside with the dogs to beat the wax off the hot head. I tremble in Mama’s arms until Dad comes home and says he saw no one and to go to bed.
I decide to sleep in my regular bedroom. I fill in my sister in as to what happened. Dad is making regular rounds in the house with a cup of coffee. We’re all still and I finally think “I can sleep.”
Nope. I notice the man outside my window. From what I can see in the moonlight, he gives me a shush signal and runs away. Just turns around to run a straight line away.
I swear I couldn’t stop crying for what felt like hours.”