When I was about eleven years old in the late eighties, my parents, younger sister and I moved into a big, yellow house in Quartz Hill, Ca. The house was brand-new. We moved in before it was finished; all that was left to do was hang a few interior doors and window blinds.
I was excited about moving into this house because my bedroom was bigger than any I'd had before. The first night in the house I had a horrible nightmare. I dreamt I was thirsty and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a drink. The kitchen is in the back of the house, and at that time there were no blinds on the windows facing the backyard.
I opened the fridge to grab a drink when I looked out the window to see a person walking behind the wall in our backyard- all I could see was their head and shoulders. As I watched the person turned and looked at me. Their face was a shadowy black and I couldn't make out any features except the eyes. The eyes were glowing silver and the sight of them sent a wave of sheer terror through me.
I woke up trembling, telling myself it was a dream. However, unlike most dreams, everything looked the way it did in real life which never happens in my dreams. Still, I thought it was just a particularly bad dream and didn't think anything more about it.
My sister reported seeing a disembodied hand resting on the doorknob to her bedroom and several other odd things around that time, but my parents and I wrote it off as a ploy to get attention.
Then one night- months after the dream- when I was home alone I took a shower and decided to catch a little cat nap before going out. I drifted off to sleep, but something woke me up. When I opened my eyes I saw a large black shadow leaning over me- with silver eyes! I was so terrified- I'd never seen anything like it- not in real life standing in my room with me. It vanished after a few seconds but it got me thinking that maybe my sister was telling the truth.
I saw that shadowy creature many more times over the next few months. When it stopped showing up there seemed to be plenty others there to take its place.
That was just the beginning of thirteen years of terror in that house that, at one point, drove me to a psychiatrist for help.