Ghosts — Nobody Believes Me

In Indonesia, stories about spirits or “things” that live in forests and villages are very common. We grow up hearing them. But honestly, I always treated them as just part of the culture—old stories, nothing more. Until last year. I live in a small village not far from Yogyakarta. I have a motorbike, and sometimes at night I visit a friend in a neighboring village. It’s about a 25-minute ride, through rice fields and a stretch of old forest. The road is narrow, the asphalt is uneven in places, but I’ve taken it hundreds of times. That night felt normal. It was around 9:30 PM—already dark, but not completely, because the moon was almost full. I was heading home from my friend’s place when, about halfway through the route—right where the forest begins—I noticed something strange: it was too quiet. It’s hard to explain. Usually at night you still hear things— insects, crickets, sometimes dogs in the distance. But this time it was like… someone had turned all the sound off. At first, I didn’t think much of it. But a couple of minutes later, I saw someone standing in the middle of the road. That was already unusual. No one really walks there at night. I slowed down and got closer. It was a man, dressed normally—a shirt and pants. He was standing with his back to me, completely still. I stopped about five meters away and called out, “Hey, are you okay?” No response. Nothing at all. I thought maybe he was drunk or not feeling well. I turned off the engine and started walking toward him. That’s when things got strange. Every step I took forward, it felt like the distance between us didn’t change. I stepped again—same thing. It was like he stayed exactly where he was, even though I was clearly moving closer. I stopped. At that moment, he began to turn his head… very slowly. Not his body—just his head. And the way it moved… it wasn’t right. Too slow, and at an angle I can’t really describe. I didn’t wait for him to fully turn around. Suddenly I had a strong feeling that I needed to leave. Not even fear exactly—more like instinct. I quickly turned back, started my motorbike, and sped off. After about 20 or 30 meters, I heard footsteps behind me. At first soft, then faster. I looked in the mirror—and I saw him. He was walking behind me. Not running. Just walking… but getting closer. I accelerated as much as I could. The road doesn’t allow high speed, but I pushed it anyway. I checked the mirror again—he was closer now. And that’s when I noticed something that still scares me: his legs weren’t moving the way they should. It was like… he was gliding. I don’t know how long it lasted—maybe 20 seconds, maybe a minute. Then suddenly, the sound stopped. I looked back again—no one there. I didn’t stop until I was out of the forest. Only when I got closer to the village did I finally stop and realize my hands were shaking. I went home and didn’t tell anyone. I thought maybe I was just tired, or imagining things. But a few days later, I noticed something else. On the back of my motorbike, there were marks—like dirty handprints. Not mine—I know where I usually hold. These were higher… and the fingers looked longer. I later asked my friend, carefully, if he had ever seen anyone on that road at night. He said he tries not to go that way after dark. I asked why. He just said, “Just don’t go there at night.” Since then, I never take that road at night anymore. During the day, everything feels normal. But every time I pass that part of the forest, I get this strange feeling… like someone is watching me from behind. I know this sounds made up. I’m not trying to convince anyone. I just wanted to share it, because even now, I still can’t explain what I saw that night.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this, because if I read something like this from someone else, I probably wouldn’t believe it. But it happened to me, and since then, I haven’t been able to come up with any normal explanation. I live in a small town in the Czech Republic. I work remotely, so I often stay up late. About six months ago, my schedule got a bit strange—I’d go to bed around 2 or 3 a.m., sometimes even later. It started with something small. At the beginning of winter, I began waking up almost every night at around the same time—3:17 a.m. Not 3:15, not 3:20—almost always 3:17, or very close to it. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Just coincidence. But then it kept happening. Every single night. No matter how tired I was, no matter when I went to bed, I’d still wake up at exactly that time. And the strangest part was how I woke up—it was sudden, like something had woken me. Not from a sound, not from a nightmare—I’d just open my eyes, instantly. After about a week, I started noticing something else. Every time I woke up, I had this feeling that I wasn’t alone in the room. It’s hard to describe—I didn’t see anything, but there was a very clear sense of presence. Like someone was nearby, just out of sight. I told myself it was just that half-asleep state. But then one night changed everything. I woke up, as usual, at 3:17. I was lying there, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, just a faint glow from outside. And then I heard it… a soft knocking sound. Like someone tapping on the wall. Once. Then a pause. Then again. I froze. I do have neighbors, but that wall faces outside. There’s nothing there but the street. I sat up and listened. Silence. I almost convinced myself I imagined it—then I heard it again. This time closer. Not the wall, but like it was coming from the wardrobe. Tap… tap. I turned on the light. The sound stopped immediately. I got up, checked everything—wardrobe, door, window. Nothing. I went back to bed, turned off the light. About five minutes later, the knocking came back. But now it sounded like it was coming from different places. Still quiet, but very clear. I turned the light on again—silence. This went on for about half an hour. Every time I turned the light off, the tapping would start again. Like something was checking whether I could see it. I didn’t sleep that night. The next day I tried to rationalize it—pipes, maybe, or something in the walls. But then it got worse. A couple of days later, I woke up at 3:17 again, already expecting the knocking. But instead, I heard something else—a very faint sound, like whispering. Not words, just a soft, constant murmur. I lay still and listened. The sound was to my right, near the armchair. I turned my head—and it stopped instantly. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and pointed it there. And this is where I’m not sure what I saw. There was something on the chair… something dark. Not exactly a full figure, more like a dense shadow—but it didn’t look like a normal shadow. It had some kind of shape, but I couldn’t quite focus on it. I blinked—and it was gone. After that, I couldn’t just explain it away anymore. I started leaving the light on at night. And I noticed something: as long as there was light in the room, nothing happened. No sounds, no presence. But the moment it got dark—it all came back. The strangest thing happened about a month later. I decided to test whether the time mattered. One night, I didn’t go to sleep at all—I worked straight through. And at exactly 3:17, while I was sitting at my computer, my monitor… flickered off for a split second. Just a black screen, like the power cut out. And in that exact moment, I felt it again—that presence. The monitor turned back on, everything looked normal. But there was a folder open that I hadn’t opened. And inside it—a file named “3_17”. I know for a fact I didn’t create it. I opened it. It was an empty text file. No words, no symbols. Just blank. After that, I moved to a friend’s place for a few weeks. Nothing happened there. Nothing at all. But when I came back home—on the very first night, I woke up again at 3:17. I’m planning to move out. Because I don’t know what this is. And honestly, I’m not sure I even want to know.