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Something Followed Us Home From Our Vacation
A few weeks ago, four of my closest friends and I flew to Tunisia for vacation. Everything went perfectly at first—the flight, the arrival, the hotel. We had booked a luxury resort and were excited for a carefree week.
But the moment I stepped into my room, something felt wrong. It wasn’t anything I could see or point to—it was that gut-deep, skin-crawling sense of being watched. I tried to brush it off. Tunisia is a deeply spiritual place, and because of my faith, I can’t easily dismiss the idea of spirits. Still, I didn’t want to ruin the first night with paranoia.
That evening, we went into the city—Hammamet. It’s beautiful, lively, full of light and sound. But there was this one woman… she wanted to give us henna tattoos. My best friend and I declined, joking, “No, no, we don’t want skin cancer.” She glared at us, muttered something under her breath in Arabic—a language none of us speak. We laughed it off, but the unease followed us back to the hotel.
Later that night, in my room, one of my friends told us a story about a shadowy figure he used to see in his childhood dreams—a black-cloaked man who stalked him while he slept. The second he spoke the words “the black man” out loud, everything went wrong.
It was like someone flipped a switch. My body froze. I was suddenly in a white, empty void that looked eerily like the barrier from the indie game Undertale. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. In the distance, I heard my friends screaming my name—“Gabriel! Gabriel!”—but it felt muffled, like it was coming from underwater.
When I finally snapped back, I was lying in bed. My body felt wrong, like my bones had turned to rubber. I couldn’t form words. My friends were standing over me, their voices sounding impossibly loud even though they were speaking normally. Later, they told me I had been unresponsive for over twenty minutes. They couldn’t shake me, couldn’t wake me. I had just lain there, motionless.
Panicked, we started searching online for answers. Everything we found pointed to one thing: something from the other side had reached for me. And that’s when the bathroom toilet flushed—by itself. Not just water running, not pipes. A full flush.
Then, out of nowhere, we found straw scattered on my friend David’s bed. No one knew where it had come from.
That same night, another friend, Maksim, dreamed that the room filled with faceless people, pressing in on him. When we looked it up, it said it meant something life-changing was coming.
The days that followed only got worse. Our friend who hadn’t been told anything about what happened walked into our room and immediately said, “Something feels wrong in here.”
On our last day, the metal vent cover above the bed suddenly dropped and slammed onto David. The bathroom made noises again—this time louder. We packed our things and left that room as fast as possible, counting the hours until our flight home.
But before we left, David went pale. He said something had whispered to him, telling him that terrible things were coming. That whatever was in that room wanted us gone—wanted us out of its space.
Now we’re home. My family and friends don’t believe me when I tell the story. They laugh it off, say I’m exaggerating. But I can’t sleep anymore. Every night, I feel the same eyes on me that I felt the first day in Tunisia.
Something followed us back.
And it doesn’t want to leave.
note: this story is not made up unfortunately, i can't sleep at night and all of this stuff is keeping me awake.
i also used a translator since english is not my first language, hope you don't mind.
#entertainment
source
A few weeks ago, four of my closest friends and I flew to Tunisia for vacation. Everything went perfectly at first—the flight, the arrival, the hotel. We had booked a luxury resort and were excited for a carefree week.
But the moment I stepped into my room, something felt wrong. It wasn’t anything I could see or point to—it was that gut-deep, skin-crawling sense of being watched. I tried to brush it off. Tunisia is a deeply spiritual place, and because of my faith, I can’t easily dismiss the idea of spirits. Still, I didn’t want to ruin the first night with paranoia.
That evening, we went into the city—Hammamet. It’s beautiful, lively, full of light and sound. But there was this one woman… she wanted to give us henna tattoos. My best friend and I declined, joking, “No, no, we don’t want skin cancer.” She glared at us, muttered something under her breath in Arabic—a language none of us speak. We laughed it off, but the unease followed us back to the hotel.
Later that night, in my room, one of my friends told us a story about a shadowy figure he used to see in his childhood dreams—a black-cloaked man who stalked him while he slept. The second he spoke the words “the black man” out loud, everything went wrong.
It was like someone flipped a switch. My body froze. I was suddenly in a white, empty void that looked eerily like the barrier from the indie game Undertale. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. In the distance, I heard my friends screaming my name—“Gabriel! Gabriel!”—but it felt muffled, like it was coming from underwater.
When I finally snapped back, I was lying in bed. My body felt wrong, like my bones had turned to rubber. I couldn’t form words. My friends were standing over me, their voices sounding impossibly loud even though they were speaking normally. Later, they told me I had been unresponsive for over twenty minutes. They couldn’t shake me, couldn’t wake me. I had just lain there, motionless.
Panicked, we started searching online for answers. Everything we found pointed to one thing: something from the other side had reached for me. And that’s when the bathroom toilet flushed—by itself. Not just water running, not pipes. A full flush.
Then, out of nowhere, we found straw scattered on my friend David’s bed. No one knew where it had come from.
That same night, another friend, Maksim, dreamed that the room filled with faceless people, pressing in on him. When we looked it up, it said it meant something life-changing was coming.
The days that followed only got worse. Our friend who hadn’t been told anything about what happened walked into our room and immediately said, “Something feels wrong in here.”
On our last day, the metal vent cover above the bed suddenly dropped and slammed onto David. The bathroom made noises again—this time louder. We packed our things and left that room as fast as possible, counting the hours until our flight home.
But before we left, David went pale. He said something had whispered to him, telling him that terrible things were coming. That whatever was in that room wanted us gone—wanted us out of its space.
Now we’re home. My family and friends don’t believe me when I tell the story. They laugh it off, say I’m exaggerating. But I can’t sleep anymore. Every night, I feel the same eyes on me that I felt the first day in Tunisia.
Something followed us back.
And it doesn’t want to leave.
note: this story is not made up unfortunately, i can't sleep at night and all of this stuff is keeping me awake.
i also used a translator since english is not my first language, hope you don't mind.
#entertainment
source
| 10,000 mlx | |
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