Bedroom Visitor

Part 2: Grandma: “Now you don’t have to be afraid either.”

I must have been 8 or 9 years old. Around the year 1993/1994. At that time I occasionally stayed at my grandma’s. So also this time.

It is interesting that I repressed and forgot the experience for a long time, until years later I remembered why I no longer wanted to sleep with my grandmother.

I slept on the window side in her old marriage bed. She slept on the other side. The door to the room was behind her. I lay on my back and woke up. I bucked up on my elbows to look around.
To my left I saw the light from the lanterns shining through the window. The bedroom closet was half lit. My gaze wandered to the right in the dark part of the room above my sleeping grandma. She was lying on her side with her back to me and her face toward the door. My gaze stopped at the open door. There were people standing in the door frame. Black silhouettes. Maybe it was burglars?
I tried to wake up my grandma. Only with one hand. No reaction. Then I knelt down and shook her shoulder with both hands. Whispered to her: “Grandma, there are burglars!” She didn’t respond.
One of the shadows in the doorway broke away from the other two.
He walked into the room.

I looked at him and fell back on my elbows. The black silhouette walked around the bed, stepping in front of the bedroom closet, which was half lit by the window.

Bedroom Visitor 

I saw the person’s light legs. Then the upper body. My eyes traveled upwards with the cone of light from the street lamp. When the head was lit, I was shocked! In shock, I threw my gaze to the left towards the window. I didn’t want to look at the person. It now stepped in front of the window and next to my side of the bed. I looked even further to the left at the bedside cabinet. I was forced to get out of bed. I wasn’t physically forced to do it. As if by mental manipulation, I got up under my own power and slid off the bed until I was standing in front of the being. I looked down at its feet. I had no idea what that creature was. I was afraid of its appearance.
The three strangers walked with me to the kitchen window on the other side of the apartment. Second floor. Attic. That’s all I know.

Breakfast the next morning had fresh rolls and eggs. Like always with Grandma.
The scary dream I had weighed on me.
I decided to tell her about my dream.
I wanted her to reassure me that it was just a stupid dream.
Instead, she wore that dear, blissful smile that my grandmother so often had. And I got the following answer:

In the past, when she was little (must have been late 1920s, early 1930s) she was visited by the brownies. She was my age then. No, a couple of years older. Around 11. At first she was terribly afraid of them. At some point they told her not to be afraid and then she wasn’t afraid anymore. And now they would come to me. And I shouldn’t have to be afraid either.

The answer was pure horror for me.
After that, I didn’t want to sleep at my grandmothers apartment anymore and never did.

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