In Kingston, at a place called Outlook, there lived a young woman named Tracey. She shared a house with her sister and her niece, but something about the place felt… wrong.
There was a dark presence lurking in the back room. Tracey felt it watching her, cold and unseen.
At night, the feeling grew stronger. She avoided that room whenever she could.
The First Time It Happened
One night, Tracey lay on her back, drifting into sleep. The house was silent, until she heard the bathroom door creak open. Thinking it was her sister, she ignored it.
Then, pressure.
It felt like something was holding her down, an invisible force pinning her to the bed. She tried to call out, but no sound came. She struggled to move, but her body was paralyzed. She wasn’t alone.
Morning came, and she told her sister. She laughed.
“It was just a nightmare, Tracey. You need to stop eating so late at night.”
Tracey wanted to believe her. But deep down, she knew the truth, something was in that room.
The Whispering Presence
A week later, Tracey lay in bed again, trying to sleep. The room was quiet. Then, she heard it.
A whisper, right beside her ear.
“Yuh alright?”
The breath was warm. Too close.
Her eyes flew open, but once again her body froze. This time, the presence was stronger. She felt a hand clamp over her nose, it became hard to breathe. She tried to pray, to whisper Psalms 91, but no words came.
The thing wanted her silent.
Seconds stretched into eternity before it let go. Tracey gasped for air, her chest rising and falling in ragged, terrified breaths. She knew then, this wasn’t a dream.
The Father’s Warning
Her father came to visit from the countryside. That night, he slept in the back room.
In the dead of night, Tracey woke to the sound of struggling her father gasping, kicking, fighting against something unseen.
She called out. “Daddy!”
The moment her voice broke the silence, the struggle stopped. He sat up, his face pale. He turned to her, his voice grave.
“Don’t sleep in that room again.”
Tracey didn’t need to be told twice. She dragged her blanket to her sister’s room and slept on the floor.
The Worst Was Yet To Come
One afternoon, in broad daylight, Tracey decided to test her fear.
“It’s day. Nothing will happen.”
She was wrong.
Sleep took her quickly. Then, the door creaked open.
A rush of cold air filled the room, and before she could react, it was on her.
Her body locked up, her throat clenched shut. The room grew thick with a heavy fog. Then, the voice came.
“Traceeeeeey…”
A male voice. Deep. Drawn out. Hungry.
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. The fog rose, swirling toward the ceiling, twisting like a living shadow. She wanted to scream, but she had no control.
For half an hour, it held her. Whispering. Watching.
When it finally let go, she felt drained, weak, broken. She ran from the room, her legs trembling beneath her.
“We need to burn out this room,” she told her sister.
The Cleansing
Tracey called her friends and told them everything.
One of them sent her downtown Kingston to a pharmacy, a place known for spiritual remedies.
“They will tell you what to use,” they said.
And they did.