Four years ago, my girlfriend and I were studying in Brighton, East Sussex. One evening, around half past ten, we went out to meet a friend for dinner. Her house was just a short walk from my girlfriend’s flat, so we decided to stroll there. Everything seemed normal as we chatted and walked at a relaxed pace. To get there, we had to turn left at a corner.
We were nearly there when, mid-conversation, my girlfriend quietly asked what was approaching in the distance. I glanced sideways and saw a figure moving toward us, about two streets away. It was tall, broad-shouldered, and walked with a sideways, hunched posture. Though the street was dimly lit, it was clear the figure was moving unnaturally fast, as if trying to catch up to us.
It struck us as odd, but we assumed it might just be a local, perhaps a homeless person. We kept walking and turned the corner. Just a couple of houses away from our friend’s place, my girlfriend suddenly gripped my hand tightly. In a fearful whisper, she asked if I’d noticed what was following us. I spun around—there, right at the corner we’d just passed, was the same figure.
There was no way it could have reached us so quickly. Moments ago, it had been far behind. Fear gripped us, especially as it started moving again—swiftly, almost laboring forward, yet closing the gap between us.
We sprinted without thinking and reached our friend’s house. Frantically, we knocked, and she opened the door immediately. We rushed inside without a word. She took one look at our pale faces and ragged breaths. Her little terrier began barking insistently at the street, as though something—or someone—was still out there.
Seeing us so shaken, our friend assumed we’d been mugged. Once we caught our breath, we explained what happened. She and her parents stepped outside to check, but the street was empty. Not a soul in sight.
That night, we decided not to go back to the flat. We stayed over, our hearts still pounding with dread. To this day, we don’t know what followed us that night, but we both agree on one thing—whatever it was, it didn’t feel human.
Sometimes, fear whispers a truth our minds refuse to accept: there are things beyond our understanding, lurking just out of sight.
