01/06/2026
I want to make something very clear before I say anything else. I have never used a Ouija board in my life. I have never participated in a séance, never summoned anything, never played games with spirits or the dead. I have watched videos online, sure. I have read stories. But I have never crossed that line.
At least, not intentionally.
I have always been interested in the paranormal. I take photo walks through cemeteries. I look for things most people overlook. Shadows. Reflections. Shapes that do not quite make sense. I have read countless paranormal stories and studied photos that claim to show evidence of something beyond us. But interest does not mean invitation, and that distinction is important to me.
Or at least, it used to be.
A while back, I was staying at a cabin in Blue Ridge, Georgia. It was quiet, remote, surrounded by trees that swallowed sound at night. My room had a balcony that wrapped around the front of the cabin, with a large glass door positioned to the left of the bed. Heavy red, velvety curtains hung from the top of the doors, thick enough to block out most of the outside world.
Before going to bed, I closed the curtains, but the bottom brushed against my suitcase, which was sitting on the floor. Because of that, there was a small opening near the bottom where I could see a sliver of the outside. Just enough to notice movement, if there was any.
I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, reading about a triple homicide that had happened in my hometown years ago. The kind of thing you read late at night and immediately regret. I remember feeling uneasy, but I brushed it off as paranoia.
Then I noticed something wrong with the curtains.
At first, I thought it was just the fabric catching light in a strange way. But then it became clearer. A face was forming in the curtain itself, as if fog had seeped into the material. It was transparent, pale, and unmistakably male. The expression was serious. Not angry. Not sad. Just watching.
I froze.
Every instinct told me not to move, not to look too closely, not to acknowledge it. But curiosity won. Fear always seems to lose when curiosity shows up.
I reached for my camera, a Kodak Easyshare Sport MP12, and snapped a photo.
When I looked at the image, my stomach dropped.
Beneath the man’s chin was a fog-like shape, thicker than the rest, stretching downward in a way that suggested a torso. It looked less like a trick of light and more like something standing just behind the curtain, pressing itself forward enough to be seen.
That was not my first experience with things like this.
As a child, I would hear footsteps pacing in the attic directly above my room, even when no one else was awake. I saw shadows in my room that had no source, tall and shaped like people, lingering just long enough for me to question my sanity. I heard strange noises, objects moving when no one was near them. Once, my phone shifted locations entirely while I was alone.
For years, I told myself there had to be explanations. Old houses make noise. Brains play tricks. Fear fills in gaps.
But here is the thing.
My house was built in 2003. There is no tragic history attached to it. No documented deaths. No old burial grounds. No violent past that I am aware of.
The only death that ever truly affected me was my dog.
And that thought bothers me more than anything else.
I do not know who or what is following me. I do not know if my curiosity invited something, or if it has always been there, watching quietly until I noticed it. I only know that whatever appeared in that cabin felt familiar. Not comforting, but known.
Like it had been with me for a long time.
And I am afraid that it is not finished making itself seen.
