She’s Watching Us Now
I showed the video to the only person I trust enough to tell about any of this—my coworker.
I was hoping she would have some explanation I hadn’t thought of. Some logical answer. Anything.
Instead, she watched the footage three separate times in complete silence, replaying sections frame by frame like she was trying to catch something hidden between movements.
The longer she stared at the screen, the more unsettled she looked.
Finally, she paused the video and looked at me.
“I think this is your sleep paralysis demon.”
I nodded like that sentence meant something reassuring.
It didn’t.
“What about the conversations?” I asked. “The voices?”
She hesitated before answering.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “But honestly… that part scares me more.”
Me too.
The figure on the camera was horrifying enough, but the voices felt intelligent. Aware. Like they were discussing me when they thought I couldn’t hear them.
Before I left work, she told me to keep recording everything. She tried reassuring me that sleep paralysis entities can’t actually hurt people.
I wish I believed that.
But every instinct I have tells me otherwise.
The equipment is set up again tonight. Camera charged. Phone recording. Hallway light on.
I’m going to try to sleep.
It’s 4:02 a.m. now.
The apartment is completely silent, but something feels wrong tonight.
Not dangerous exactly.
Charged.
Like the air before a thunderstorm.
I don’t know how else to explain it except that the apartment feels full of static. Every hair on my arms has been standing up for the last hour. Even the lights seem slightly dimmer than usual.
I walked through every room twice.
Nothing is out of place.
No moved furniture. No shifted rugs. No open doors.
But it still feels like something is here with me.
I’m not checking the recordings until morning.
Not again.
I refuse to sit in this darkness listening to those voices.
It’s 8:11 a.m.
I’ve watched the footage at least ten times now, and I still can’t process what I’m seeing.
At 3:12 a.m., the tall figure appeared again.
Only this time… it wasn’t alone.
Another shape emerged from the hallway behind it. Smaller. Lower to the ground. Moving in short, twitching motions that barely looked human at all.
The taller figure stepped beside my bed while the smaller one stopped near the bedroom door.
Then the audio picked something up.
Not whispers.
Crying.
Soft, uneven sobbing coming from somewhere inside the room.
And after several seconds, I realized the crying was coming from me.
The camera audio is terrible. Most of the sounds come through muffled and distorted, buried beneath static and interference. Honestly, I almost forgot I still had the sleep app recording on my phone too, just in case the camera missed anything.
I’m glad I did.
The sleep recording captured the voices far more clearly.
“She’s watching us now,” a soft voice whispered from somewhere near the hallway.
A deeper voice answered close to the recorder.
“Let her.”
Then came shuffling noises—slow dragging sounds moving across the floor around my bed.
A low growl followed.
Not human.
Not even close.
The sound was deep enough to distort the audio for a second, like the microphone itself couldn’t process it correctly.
More movement. Quick scurrying noises. Then the softer voice spoke again, farther away this time.
“He’s awake.”
The response came immediately.
“See what you’ve done!”
The deeper voice exploded so suddenly and loudly that I physically jumped while listening to it.
And then—
Sobbing.
Quiet at first.
Then uncontrollable.
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