In my early teens I lived in a house with a foyer which, for those unfamiliar, is essentially a hallway connecting to the front door. However, I could not see the door as there was a figure standing in front. The time was that portion of night where peak darkness blankets the world. A bit of natural light stemming from the moon, and not a whole lot else, offered any small bit of visibility I had. This looming figure who stood opposite of me was unrecognizable both because I did not know it and the figure was composed of an absolute blackness that went above and beyond any natural darkness we know. An abyssal darkness that breathed life through the devouring of light.
Raggy coverings, colored in the same abyssal blackness, wrapped around the figure. I stood across the foyer from the figure from the perspective of my own eyes. Never shifting my gaze, blinking, or daring to utter a word. I only knew it was me because of the sensations I felt staring forward, fixated.
At first, with me and the figure standing our ground, I felt nothing as I focused silently still. Surreal emotions ignited instincts to leave despite also causing me to feel transfixed in the moment. Then the figure moved towards me at a pace that felt slow yet deliberate and, somehow, in some indescribable fashion, menacing. I saw no legs nor feet and the figure appeared to almost glide across in a way that was barely perceptible yet still obvious.
As it inched toward me my emotions rose from nothing to a freezing terror with each inch inciting dread. Beyond the increasing sense of dread that made me feel incapable of movement, my vision became increasingly obscured as the figure crept closer. Despite the foyer not being more than twenty feet long, the figure seemed to grow larger as it moved closer to the point where, upon reaching me, it blanketed my vision and all I saw was a sea of pure black.
I woke up from that dream sweating and feeling a mix of fear and adrenaline. Not long after that night I suddenly woke in the dead of the night to my arm swinging with heavy force to the other side of the bed with no memory of dreaming prior to that incident. If memory serves, this occurred around the time of the witching hour.
This was over a decade ago and I cannot remember any dreams prior to or since then. Let alone one as memorable, frightful, and mystifying as that figure. I didn't think much of it honestly, but it's a curiosity that it's the only dream I have ever had to my memory.
When I recall that dream, no matter how far apart from it in time, I still can't help but fixate and feel the unforgettable emotions as if I were still in the moment. The dream may have lasted what felt like twenty seconds yet the memory stands the test of time. Where all of my other memories in life erode away before I can wake, this figure bloomed to life. However, when talking to others about this subject I would say "what's knowingly unsolvable is best left unsolved and largely unstudied, in my mind".
Several years later, major depression and suicide attempts plagued me and became my world.
