One night, fueled by our fascination with the supernatural, my friend, my boyfriend, and I decided to explore a graveyard. A sense of unease engulfed me upon arrival, so I remained in the car. My friend rushed back, claiming to have seen something in the distance. We followed her lead and reached a tombstone. As we approached, a black figure materialized, sending shivers down my spine. Trembling uncontrollably, I sensed waves of hate and pain emanating from the entity. Tears welled up, and I felt unsafe. Despite their curiosity, we left swiftly, it taking an hour to cease my shaking.
Another incident, years ago, involved an “angry spirit.” While decorating our club in a tree line, a rusted can in a pile of rocks seized my attention. Ignoring the impossibility of anything larger fitting, I reached in. Suddenly, a charred hand gripped my wrist, searing it with unbearable heat. Panic set in as I struggled, finally freeing myself to find a black handprint. My friend and I both saw it, but only she believes in that account. The second encounter remains doubted, yet I hope someone will believe me.