The Night Watcher

As the moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the room, I lay awake, haunted by his words. "He told me he sleepwalks at night," I repeated to myself, the chill of realization creeping up my spine. But it wasn't the thought of his nocturnal wanderings that filled me with dread; it was what he confessed next.

"But he only stands over my bed while I sleep."

Each night, as I drifted into the realm of dreams, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. A cold shiver would run down my back, and my senses would sharpen, attuned to every creak and whisper in the darkness.

At first, I dismissed it as paranoia, a trick of the mind playing sinister games in the dead of night. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing night, until it consumed me entirely.

One fateful evening, curiosity got the better of me. I feigned sleep, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for him to make his nocturnal visit. Minutes stretched into eternity, and just as I began to doubt his intentions, a shadow loomed over me.

Frozen in terror, I dared not open my eyes, but I could sense his presence, hovering inches above me. His breath, a chilling whisper against my skin, sent shivers down my spine. I could feel his gaze, cold and unyielding, boring into the depths of my soul.

Time seemed to stand still as the night stretched on, the weight of his presence suffocating me. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, he was gone, leaving behind only the echo of his silent vigil.

But the terror remained, etched into the very fabric of my being. For I knew, deep down, that he was no mere sleepwalker. He was something far more sinister, a specter from the shadows, haunting my every dream. And as long as he roamed the night, I would never truly be safe again.