Nobody Believes Me — Something unbelievable happened to you?

Right, I'll be upfront, I've got no clue what actually happened, but maybe someone out there's had something similar. This was about a year ago. I was home alone, just a regular Saturday, nothing weird going on, sitting at my laptop in my room. I hadn't shut the door, I never bother shutting it when I'm home on my own, and anyway it only locks from the inside. After a while I figured I'd head downstairs, looked over at the door and was a bit thrown to see it was shut. Tried to walk out, but the door wouldn't budge. First I figured the handle was just jammed. Gave it a proper yank, nothing. The door was just... not letting me out. And there's no way anyone could've been holding it from the other side, I was definitely the only one home. Started getting a bit panicky by then. Checked my phone, had signal. Looked out the window, noticed it was getting dark, glanced at the clock, it was around 4. Thought maybe a storm was rolling in. The next three hours, I genuinely don't know how to describe what was going on. The whole time I never saw anyone outside the window, but our street's not exactly busy. But it kept flipping between day and night out there. One minute it'd be pitch black, the next it'd be bright as midday. Night fell three or four times in those three hours, and a whole rainstorm came and went. Rang a mate just to make sure I could actually reach someone, and to check if he was seeing the same weird shit. Got through, but he said everything was fine at his end. When I asked him about it he goes, "What night? Mate, did you teleport? It's broad daylight here." So I worked out he wasn't seeing anything weird, it was just me. I kept panicking, the door still wouldn't open. I also noticed the room kept swinging between hot and cold. Although, dunno, that could've just been me, panic does that to you. I was seriously thinking about ringing someone and asking them to come over. Probably would've spent ages working out who to call and what to say so they wouldn't have me committed, but then around 6 or 7 the door just opened on its own. I bolted out of the room, then straight out of the house. Just walked around town till late in the evening, didn't want to go back. For a few days after I tried to stay out of that room, only went in to grab stuff. Slept on the couch downstairs. But the panic faded eventually and I started questioning whether I'd lost the plot. Couple of months later I was back to sleeping and hanging out in my room. Nothing weird's happened since. I reckon I'm over it, but when I'm home alone I still wedge a chair in front of the door so it can't shut, otherwise I just can't relax. Most people'll think I imagined the whole thing, but nah. I took photos of all those views out the window on my phone. Doesn't prove anything, I just did it for myself so I wouldn't sit there later wondering if I was going mad. There's day, night and rain in those photos. And yeah, when I bolted out of the house, the ground outside was bone dry. I'd really love to know what the hell that was.

My name is Rahmat, I'm 34, I'm from Yogyakarta. This happened 3 years ago. I had a small coffee shop near Gadjah Mada University. Things were going well. Students came in every day, I hired two girls for the register — the second one honestly more because she was my mom's neighbor's kid, the neighbor asked. I was even starting to think about a second location. Mom was happy. For the first time in my life I felt like things were actually working out. And then in one week everything fell apart. First the coffee machine broke. I bought a new one. Next day the new one broke too. Just wouldn't turn on, the technician said he had no idea what was wrong. Then a pipe burst inside the wall, flooded the whole place. While I was drying everything out, one of my employees fainted right at the register. Fell and smashed the display case. You can imagine the costs — doctor, repairs. And the next morning I found a dark spot by the front door. Something oily, foul-smelling, like a mix of incense and something rotten. I'm not a superstitious person, really. But when I saw that spot, the hair on my arms stood up. I just stood there staring at it, and I had this feeling inside that I can't explain. A bad one. Mom called that same day. I hadn't told her anything about the spot, but she said: "Rahmat, go see Ki Lurah Semo." Just like that, no reason. She said she had a bad dream. When she has a bad dream, she won't let it go anyway, so I went. Ki Lurah Semo is a dukun who lives in a village south of Yogyakarta. He's about seventy, maybe older. My grandmother used to go to him when I was little. I remember his house — simple, dirt floor, a huge banyan tree in the yard. He doesn't charge a set fee, you just leave whatever you can. I went. I didn't know what else to do anyway. Ki Lurah Semo was sitting on a mat drinking tea. He looked at me and said: "Do you have a partner? Someone you were going to start a business with?" And I went cold. Because yes… there was one. Adi. We planned to open the coffee shop together, but we had a falling out over money before we even opened. He put in a small amount, I paid him back every last cent, and we went our separate ways. I thought it ended fine. Ki Lurah Semo said it briefly, something like: "He went to someone. Not to me. And he paid to have your business killed. He believes you cheated him." I felt embarrassed sitting in front of a dukun listening to this. And at the same time… I felt he was telling the truth. Because Adi really was hurt. He believed the coffee shop idea was his, and that I stole it and made money off it. That's not true, but that's what he believed. Ki Lurah Semo asked me to bring three things: water from the well near my coffee shop, a handful of dirt from the threshold, and a white jasmine flower. I brought everything the next day. He placed a bowl of water on the floor, dropped in the dirt and the flower. He started reciting something… not in Indonesian, in Old Javanese. The water in the bowl turned cloudy, then almost black. Then he leaned over the bowl and blew, and the water became clear again. Clean. The jasmine flower floated on the surface like nothing had happened. He gave me the water and told me to pour it on the threshold of the coffee shop. And then he said that when a person pays for their anger to enter someone else's home, it doesn't pass without a trace for them. "Don't be angry at him. Just close the door," that's what he said. I poured the water on the threshold that same evening. The spot I couldn't scrub off for three days was gone the next morning. Just gone. The concrete was clean, like nothing had ever been there. A week later the coffee machine worked. It just turned on when I pressed the button that morning. The employee who'd been sick came back to work. The students came back. By the end of the month the revenue was higher than before all the problems started. And six months later I ran into Adi at the market by accident. He looked bad. Thin, dark circles under his eyes. He looked away and left. I felt sorry for him. Ki Lurah Semo had warned that it would come back to him. That's how it works. I didn't take revenge. I even wanted to call him, but Mom said don't. Don't open that door again. Now I have two coffee shops. Things are going well, alhamdulillah. At the threshold of each one I keep a small pot of jasmine. Ki Lurah Semo recommended it.

Since childhood, I’ve been very afraid of mirrors, especially at night. If I needed to go to the bathroom at night, I often couldn’t make myself go because I had to pass by a mirror in the hallway. Whenever I walked past it, I tried to look away. I wasn’t afraid of seeing monsters there, but of seeing myself — with evil eyes. I don’t really know how to explain it, it’s just a very childlike memory, but it felt real to me. Later, my parents even covered that mirror. Over time, I managed to overcome my fear. But about a month ago, I had a very strange dream. In the dream, I wasn’t myself — I looked like a completely different girl, from the 18th–19th century. I was standing in front of a bathroom mirror, washing my hands… and they were covered in blood. But I wasn’t looking at my hands — I was staring into the mirror with these disgusting, evil eyes, and even smirking. I woke up and felt a strong shiver run through me… And now I’m afraid to walk past mirrors at night again, with this feeling that I might see myself with those evil eyes from my dream. I know it sounds like complete nonsense, but has anyone experienced something similar?

I was in 8th grade at the time. An ordinary school, an ordinary class. There were 28 of us — 18 boys and 10 girls. We weren't the closest class, but I definitely knew every single one of my classmates well, and I still remember them all. But there were 28 of us back then. Not anymore. Here's what happened. At the end of May 2025, our whole school went on a field trip, like we always do every spring — it's a tradition. We'd always go to a nearby grove. Each class would pick a clearing they liked and set up camp there. That day, 20 of us came. Some were sick, two were out of town, and a few just didn't feel like going. At first, everything was normal. We spread out a blanket, laid out food. Trail games, gathering firewood, just having fun. Then the boys wanted to head to the lake. Two other girls and I joined them. So ten of us set off toward the lake. It was supposed to be a 15-minute walk, but we kept walking and walking. It felt like we were going in circles. We'd been walking for about 40 minutes and still couldn't get there. I felt weirdly drowsy and exhausted. The girls and I started whining that we wanted to go back, that something weird was going on. The boys just laughed at us, though some of them looked uneasy too. After a brief argument, the three of us girls and two of the guys decided to turn back. Five boys refused to come back with us. Timur said it was a matter of principle now — he was going to reach that damn lake. Alex and Nikita were just joking around with each other, calling us cowards. Amir and Makar simply went along with them. The five of us made it back pretty quickly, though everyone said they felt unwell and really sleepy. We were back within 10 minutes. We breathed a sigh of relief. But an hour later, we started to worry that the boys hadn't come back from the lake. We told our teacher — maybe someone should go check on them, just in case? And that's when it started — what at first we took for a prank. Nobody understood who we were talking about. The teacher said our whole class was accounted for. Our classmates — the ones who hadn't come with us — said things like "Are you kidding?" and "We're all here, why are you making up extra classmates?" At first we were angry. Time was passing, the boys could be in trouble out there, and everyone was pulling this stupid joke on us. Then we started to panic. Nobody remembered them. Not the teacher, not the other classmates — no one except the five of us. After that, my memory gets hazy. I remember we refused to leave, we wouldn't abandon our friends in the grove. Someone went to get our parents. Then I remember being at home. My parents were sitting with me, showing me our class photo. Almost the whole class was in it. But Timur, Amir, Makar, Nikita, and Alex weren't. And I remember they used to be. They had vanished from every group photo we'd ever taken. No one remembered them. I went to Nikita's mother. She said to me, "Sweetie, my oldest is only 8. What Nikita are you talking about?" We couldn't even find Timur's and Makar's parents — it turned out their families didn't live in the houses where they had lived just the day before. Now I'm in 9th grade, and there are 22 of us. Those five boys never came back, and nobody remembers them, as if they had never existed. Only we remember — the five of us who parted ways with them on the path to the lake. At first we talked about it a lot. Tried to figure out what happened. An accident? Did they cross into another dimension? Now we don't talk about it at all. I think it's just too hard for each of us to deal with. One of the girls couldn't take it and her family moved away. As for me, at first I was terrified that I'd vanish too and no one would even remember me. I'm not afraid of that anymore. But I constantly wonder what's actually real, and what might have been completely different just yesterday. What if yesterday I had a sister, and today I don't remember her and don't even know she existed? Thoughts like that. It drives you crazy. So I've written their names here, and at least somewhere the memory of them will remain. That they existed. That they were young and full of life. That some of us still remember them.

My kid has a toy kitchen in her room — one of those ones that makes cooking sounds when you turn it on. At some point, our whole family started feeling like there was something else in the house. Something we couldn't explain. A creak here, a shadow there. Then one night… we put our child to bed, closed the bedroom door, and my husband and I started talking about exactly that — the weird stuff we'd been noticing. That's when we heard it. The toy kitchen switched on. It sounded like someone had turned on the little electric burners. For a second we thought maybe our kid woke up and started playing. We opened the door. Our child was fast asleep. The kitchen was still going. The moment we walked up to it — it shut off on its own. We left the room. Fifteen minutes later — again. This happened over and over. But the most terrifying part? When we finally decided to check the batteries and went to take them out… there were none.