Personal Narrative-Changing Experiences

When I told my dad he suggested that the phone lines were down because there was a snow storm on its way. I shrugged it off, allowing myself to believe him, even though I knew it was a lie. It was that thing, the creep, pissed that I tried to expose it.
I quickly grew to hate my mirror. In the day, when I would dress for school, or try to do my makeup, I could see it. Sometimes it would be just a flash, like it was running past my door. Other times it would peer at me from the doorway, still only a shadow, its head poking just around the corner. Every time I 'd turn to face it, it was gone. During the nights, the mirror was an even bigger torment, because I could see my visitor, and it could see me.
One night in particular I remember I …show more content…
I was curious if he had the same awful experiences as I was. However with each word I penned, a strangeness washed over me. I felt so stupid sitting there, writing about something so outrageous. Who would ever believe it? The creep had to be a figment of my imagination. Who could ever believe in ghosts?
I scrapped the paper and decided to just ignore whatever was plaguing me in the night. As long as I ignored it, it couldn 't hurt me. I thought that if I removed all of the things it used to torment me, then it would just go away. With that I set to work, I ripped down the beads that hung upon my door, removed the mirror from the wall, and replaced all of my bedding with a sleeping bag. That night I felt triumphant, I was sure I 'd sleep very soundly. At about one o 'clock I found out how wrong I could be.
I heard it, the shuddering breath of my tormentor coupled with the dragging limp against the carpet. I felt the air thicken, as thought the very presence of the thing could displace it. I gripped my sleeping bag tightly and swallowed hard. To my horror, the shuffling didn 't stop outside my door, rather it came inside my