The stale, metallic tang of old iron and dust clung to the air inside the Jackson State Prison. As a paranormal investigator, I’d been in my fair share of unsettling places, but Jackson had a different kind of weight to it. Even before we stepped through the imposing gates, you could feel it – a heavy, suffocating aura that whispered of past suffering. It was a place where despair had seeped into the very stone.
My team and I were there to document the activity, armed with our cameras, recorders, and EMF meters. We moved through the long, echoing corridors, the silence broken only by the creak of our footsteps and the occasional distant drip of water. That’s when it started.
A dull ache began to throb at my temples, a pressure building behind my eyes. It wasn’t just a headache; it felt like something was trying to push its way *in*. Then came the whispers. Faint at first, like wind whistling through broken panes, but they grew, swirling around me. They weren't words I could decipher, more like a chaotic murmur of voices, all talking at once, yet somehow directed solely at me.
And then, the chilling realization dawned. The whispers weren't random. They were reacting to my thoughts. I’d think about the oppressive history of the prison, the suicides, the violence, and the whispers would intensify, taking on a mocking, cruel edge. I’d feel a prickle of fear, and they would grow louder, more insistent, laced with a predatory glee. It knew. Whatever *it* was, it was inside my head, reading my most vulnerable fears.
The headache worsened, becoming a blinding agony. I felt lightheaded, my stomach churning. My team noticed my distress, their faces etched with concern. We decided to cut the investigation short, the oppressive energy in the prison too much to bear. As we drove away, a sense of relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by a gnawing unease. I had the unsettling feeling that something had hitched a ride.
The first few nights back home were relatively quiet. I attributed the lingering discomfort to the intense experience in the prison. But then I started seeing it. A shadow, darker than the night, gliding past my bedroom door in the periphery of my vision. At first, I dismissed it as my imagination, a trick of the light, a consequence of being overtired. But it happened again and again, always just out of reach, always fleeting. It was the shape of a man, tall and thin, a silhouette against the dim hallway light.
Then things escalated. I would wake up in the middle of the night with a sudden, sharp pain. My skin would burn, and I’d find fresh scratches on my arms, my legs, my torso. They weren’t accidental; they were deliberate marks, as if something had raked its claws across me. The fear that had been a distant possibility in the prison was now a terrifying reality in my own home.
The worst came one night when I woke up gasping, a searing pain on my shoulder. I fumbled for the light switch, my heart hammering against my ribs. In the harsh glare of the lamp, I saw it. A distinct bite mark on my skin, red and inflamed, the outline of teeth clearly visible. I stared at it, my blood running cold. It wasn't just following me; it was attacking me.
The Yuri vibe of that prison, that undeniable feeling of evil, had been a warning I should have heeded more carefully. This entity, this malevolent presence, had latched onto me in that dark, desolate place. It had fed on my fear, on my thoughts, and somehow, it had found a way to follow me into my life.
My life hasn't been the same since. Sleep is a luxury I rarely afford, constantly on edge, listening for the faintest sound, watching for the fleeting shadow. Every creak of the house, every unexplained noise sends a jolt of fear through me. I've tried everything – cleansing rituals, calling in other investigators, even seeking professional help – but nothing seems to deter it. It’s a constant, terrifying reminder of the darkness that resides in places like Jackson.
So, consider this a warning from someone who learned the hard way. If you’re a paranormal investigator, be careful where you go. Some places hold a darkness that doesn't stay within their walls. Some things, once awakened, are impossible to put back to sleep. And sometimes, the scariest thing isn’t what you find in the haunted location, but what follows you home.
