A Visitor in the Darkness

It was a warm, quiet evening, but the air in my parents’ house felt heavy—like the calm before a storm. I was standing in my dad’s room, talking softly to him. He was gravely ill, his body frail from a long battle with stage 4 esophageal cancer. Despite his condition, his mind was sharp, his eyes still carrying a spark of the man I’d always known. I was trying to keep the conversation light, but something felt... off.

A strange sensation crept over me, like I was being watched. My back was to the doorway that led to the living room, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was standing there, just out of sight. Slowly, I turned to look.

There it was.

Peeking around the doorframe, no taller than 4'6", was a shadowy figure. It was completely black, featureless, and impossibly still. Its hands gripped the edges of the doorway, as if steadying itself while it observed us. For a moment, I froze, the air caught in my lungs. Then, without thinking, I bolted toward it.

As I reached the doorway, the figure darted out of sight, disappearing around the corner in an instant. My heart pounded as I stepped into the living room, scanning every inch of the space. Nothing. No sign of anyone—or anything—had been there.

I returned to my dad’s room, shaken. When I told him what I saw, he furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled. “There’s nothing here but us,” he said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Over the next few weeks, as my dad’s condition worsened, others in the house began to see the figure. Friends and family who stayed overnight to help with his care reported fleeting glimpses of the same shadowy entity. Always in the periphery, always watching. My mom saw it most often. She described it as a silent observer, lingering in doorways, corners, or at the edge of her vision.

One night, she woke up to find the figure standing at the foot of her bed, motionless. It didn’t approach, didn’t move—just stood there, as if waiting. She closed her eyes, praying it was a nightmare. When she opened them, it was gone.

The shadow seemed to grow more active as my dad’s health declined, almost as if it were tied to him. On the night he passed, the house felt unbearably still. There were no sightings of the figure that night—or ever again. It was as though it had been waiting for something, and once its purpose was fulfilled, it left with him.

To this day, I wonder what it was. A guardian? A harbinger? Or something else entirely? Whatever the answer, I’ll never forget the feeling of those unseen eyes watching from the shadows.