It was around 3 AM when I woke up. The kind of wake-up that feels half-dream, half-reality—where you're not sure if you're still asleep or if something's actually happening. I needed to use the toilet, so I pushed myself out of bed, trying not to disturb the silence of the night. My flat was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the faint hum of the streetlights below filtering through the window.
I wasn’t one to usually be unsettled at night, but there was something off in the air tonight, like the atmosphere itself had shifted. I walked to the bathroom, the hallway dimly lit by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Nothing strange happened in the bathroom, but when I walked back toward my bedroom, I felt the sudden urge to check the balcony. It wasn’t a conscious decision—just something that tugged at me, as though I had to look, even though I didn’t know why.
I stepped through the sliding door, and there it was.
At first, I thought I was still groggy, seeing things in the half-light. But no, it was real. I couldn’t have been hallucinating, not this clearly. Standing there, just outside the balcony railing, was something that couldn’t belong to this world.
A creature. It wasn’t like any animal I’d ever seen—more like a reptilian humanoid, with rough, scaly skin that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Its eyes were dark, almost black, yet somehow they reflected light in a way that felt unnatural. It stood there, unmoving, staring at me with a kind of cold curiosity, like it had been waiting for me to see it. The creature didn’t make a sound. No growl, no rustling—just an eerie, heavy silence between us.
For a moment, it felt like time had stopped. I couldn’t move. I was frozen, not sure whether to look away or keep staring. The thing seemed to know I was there, and in some strange way, I felt like it knew I could see it. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it turned its head slightly, and that’s when I noticed the ship.
It wasn’t like a traditional UFO. No flashing lights or metallic surfaces. It was sleek and dark, hovering just above the roofline of the building, barely visible except for the faint glow around its edges. The creature’s eyes flicked back to me, and for just a second, it seemed like it was studying me. Not aggressively, but with that cold, calculating gaze that made my skin crawl.
Then, without a sound, it stepped backwards, disappearing into the ship. I blinked. The ship shifted, almost imperceptibly, and vanished. Not in a flash, but in a way that made it seem as though it had never been there at all.
I stood there on the balcony, my heart racing, my legs trembling. My mind tried to rationalize what had just happened, but there was no explanation. I was awake, wasn’t I? This wasn’t a dream, or at least, it felt too real to be just a dream. The fear lingered in my chest, but oddly, there was no panic. No screams. No alarms are going off. It was like... like the whole thing was happening quietly, as if it didn’t want to disturb the world around it.
I stepped back inside, locked the door behind me, and stood there in the dark, listening to the quiet. I glanced around the flat, hoping for some sign that I wasn’t the only one who’d seen it. But everything was still. No one else seemed to have noticed, even though a few people had to have been awake—there were lights on in other flats, their windows glowing faintly. Still, there was no movement, no signs of panic. The world just kept going.
The whole thing didn’t feel like it should’ve happened. If it was real, if that thing was real, why was there no chaos? Why wasn’t anyone freaking out? I wasn’t sure if it made it more terrifying or less.
I didn’t go back to bed that night. I stayed by the window, watching the skyline, waiting for anything—anything at all—that might explain what I’d seen. But the night passed quietly, like it had before. The stillness stretched on, and as the first hints of dawn broke the darkness, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone, that I hadn’t been alone, even though no one had said a word about it.
And I never told anyone. How could I? What would I say? "I saw something on my balcony last night, and it disappeared into a ship"? I wasn’t sure I even believed it myself. But I’ll never forget the feeling in that moment—the cold stare of the creature, the silence, the way the ship vanished like it had never been there.
And sometimes, when I stand by that same balcony, I can’t help but wonder if something is still out there, just waiting.
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