~Not Mine. Taken from the Крипипаста wiki~

We've all had those times, late at night. Maybe you're a little tired, and Ты turned off your lamp to help Ты relax, so it's just Ты and the dull glow of the screen. Ты hear a little noise behind Ты and jump. Ты turn around, and there's a jet-black silhouette of a man in the corner. But as your eyes focus, Ты realize it's only just your curtain. Damn cat was playing with it again, got it all twisted up. The house was just settling, and your mind jumped to a dark place. Nothing to be afraid of, not really.

That's pareidolia. It happens to everybody at some point, so Ты shrug it off and go on with your day.

But what if Ты don't? Is there a tiny, slim chance that you're getting a peek behind the veil of reality, just for a трещина, сплит second? There on the edge of your awareness, where shapes become ambiguous and the rational part of your brain thinks it isn't worth the effort ... maybe that's where the monsters live. So Ты start paying a little еще attention. Maybe you're the kind that's afraid of missing out on something, even if that something wants to shove thumbtacks under your eyelids.

Maybe that's just me.

The days go by, and you've always got one little corner of your mind focused on that fuzzy line where vision ends. Nothing noteworthy happens for the longest time, and Ты start telling yourself what a silly idea this was. Monsters? Please. Just when Ты start to lay the idea to rest for good, it happens again. A dark shape, something less than a man but еще than an animal. Two coal-red eyes that ooze hunger. Still, it's only a vague impression of evil. Ты whip your head around, your сердце hammering at your ears. Just the damn lamp.

Maybe your brain is just Показ Ты what Ты expect to be there, Ты reason. After all, the mind plays tricks to keep reality in line with expectations. Still, you're really interested now. Whatever this is has your attention, and you've never been able to let a thing rest once it piques your curiosity.

Ты become even еще vigilant. In the back of your mind, Ты take stock of your peripheral vision. Ты try to push out further, expanding your vision beyond that impossible-to-place boundary between sight and darkness. You're dedicated to this crazy task now. For nearly three weeks straight Ты probe, but to no avail. The curtain isn't drawing back any further. Ты see nothing out of the ordinary, so Ты give it a rest, once and for all. It's silly to think there's some hidden place between realities, that of billions and billions of people you're the first to notice. Ты always wanted to be special, didn't you?

So Ты go back to the humdrum of daily routine. Maybe Ты were just bored. And then one night, you're back at the computer Чтение about some political snafu in the Middle-East. You're not really into it, but Ты couldn't be bothered to find something better to do, not right before bed. The room is dark. It's just like that first night, Ты muse. The creature colored like Телевидение static standing at your shoulder nods slowly and wait that's not right.

Ты jump sideways, twisting as Ты fall. Nothing there, but nothing in its place either. No lamp, no curtain, no poster, nothing but air in that empty Космос where it stood. Ты stare for a good while, rubbing the nasty bump on your head. Finally, Ты step to the кухня to grab an ice pack from the freezer. Troubled thoughts twist at your brain. Two is a coincidence; three is a trend. You're hooked now. Maybe your mom always told Ты to quit while Ты were ahead.

Maybe that's just me.

You're beginning to see the pattern. Nothing happens when you're really paying attention. When you're waking up, in that time before your brain clicks on, when the sun is just rising? Sure. When your guard is down and you're halfway to daydreaming? Definitely. In those gaps where your critical mind gets childlike, that's where the cracks start to show. And weren't there monsters in your closet when Ты were little, before Ты knew better?

You're at the office the Далее day, typing away at your computer. Your brain disengages, and Ты think back to the night before. It still has Ты spooked. A thought zigs by, and you're reminded of those nights laying in постель, кровати when Ты were just хлопать, привкус between awareness and dreaming: Ты could watch your body relax and your breathing even out. Kind of like walking the edge of a razorblade. So, god help you, Ты start practicing. It's kind of like meditation. Ты spend some time every morning and night lounging in bed, drinking in that feeling of being on the edge of wakefulness. Ты can feel it like an intuition, and Ты start recalling that body memory in the office while you're filling out your busywork.

One fine morning, you're doing your practice and a gaunt, lanky creature with skin the palest white and black holes where its eyes should be strolls past the opening of your cubicle - just to your right, plain as day. Ты nearly repeat the stunt with the chair again, but Ты manage to land square on your feet this time. Ты peek your head around the cubicle wall, and see the back of your coworker Craig as he walks away. He slows to a halt, looks over his shoulder, and gives Ты a wink before continuing on his way. Ты and Craig aren't that friendly, and Ты think Ты see a smirk on his face. But he was too quick for Ты to get a good look.

It's just your imagination, right?

... right?