Little bit of an introduction here, I got the idea for a thread like this from SA, their ghost story threads are magnificent.
First of all - It's possible that this could be considered a post your, but frankly I'm hoping it won't be the +1 inane copy and paste/chat bullshit that makes up the entirety of Fast Threads. Hopefully some interesting stories will get shared, which I reckon makes it GD material.
Second of all - Sceptics - There is nothing wrong with being a sceptic in this thread, please do post if you believe you have a logical explanation for something that happened in a story. What the thread could do without is shitposting about how ghosts aren't real and if you believe it you're stupid. The GD rules back this up, if you think it's shit there's no need to shit all over the thread.
Thirdly - Fiction or Non-Fiction? There will more than likely be a few stories that just don't quite seem to sound genuine. While the thread is mainly about genuine experiences, there's nothing stopping people from posting complete fiction, and it'd be better if the thread wasn't filled up with thousands of people shouting "THIS SOUNDS FAKE".
^ Not that I'm trying to backseat mod, just hoping that some guidelines keep the thread halfway productive.
Without any further adieu, the first of a few short stories of my experiences.
So what the fuck are you doing next to my bed?
It was 2 years ago, and I was still in school, what'd be referred to as High School in America. It was the easter break, which naturally means that schoolkids get tons of time off while no-one else does, it wasn't uncommon for me to be in the house alone for the majority of the day. This story actually takes place a foot away from where I'm typing this, in my bed.
It was a pretty average day off, I'd slept till 12, gone out with my friends to play some rugby. Had a cheeky can of lager like the excitable teen I was, and gone back home because I was tired. This doesn't mean I was drunk by the way, just one can while we were out. So I get home, and my dad's gone to the pub, I go to sleep, and everything seems to be normal.
Then suddenly I awake. I feel something, it's something that can't really be explained until you experience it, but there was just a tangible feeling that something was off. I couldn't see anything, or feel anything, but the air felt heavy and I was wide awake. I can see the clock from where I'm laid, 2:00, I might have heard my father coming back from the pub, I go with that explanation and close my eyes to try to get some shut eye.
That's when I noticed it, how had I not before? To my left is a closet, it's about a meter away from my head, and was never particularly menacing, but it's unmistakeable. I can hear breathing, it's slow, it's quiet, but it's definitely there. At this point I'm in fight or flight mode, there's something in my fucking closet, and I'm not getting pushed around in my own bed, I'm opening the bastard right now.
I lean over the gap between my bed and the closet and place my hand on the handle when I realise something. With my head next to the closet I notice that the breathing isn't actually coming from the closet at all. It's coming from, oh fuck, oh fucking no, I can only imagine I looked like a ghost myself from how ill the realisation made me. I look down and there it is.
It's a man, he's knelt down on all fours beside my bed, so that his head is mere inches from the floor. The bright blue alarm clock doesn't give a startling amount of detail, but he seemed to be wearing a dirty yellow tanktop, and what looked like tracksuit bottoms. He had short hair, but I couldn't see his face as I was right above him, granted I didn't want to see his goddamn face. I stayed where I was, absolutely and completely shitting myself, I was beginning to sweat, I could feel tears beginning to well up in my eyes, I don't want this to carry on anymore.
It starts getting faster, the slow, gentle breathing is gaining speed and becoming louder, I'm shaking so much I'm surprised I didn't fall down there with him. I don't know when I decided, but I just decided the breathing was getting fast enough for me to get the fuck out of there, without a second of hesitation I bolt for the door, rag it open and fly down the stairs as quickly as my legs will take me.
It's a bit of an anti-climax, but I just slept downstairs on the sofa that night with all the lights on, and nothing of the sort has ever happened again. This might have something to do with having to move my bed over that spot when I got a new computer desk though.
Hope you enjoyed what may be a pretty tame story by ghost story standards, but a genuinely terrifying experience for me. I hope that there are enough people who have had experiences who are willing to share them.
Also I'm a bit of a sceptic as well, I will always try to look for a logical answer, but I can't explain what I saw. I'll post some of my other stories once a few more people post.