The story you are about to read is 100% true and embarrassing.
It was a warm night in 1998, my wife was working the night shift and I had turned in for the night. We lived at the end of a country road, last house. Except for our neighbors across the street, we had no one else around. It was a moonless night and there were no street lights. When it was dark outside it was dark as we lived far from any city lights.
It was about 2 in the morning when I heard a scraping noise near the window, my eyes snapped open and fear gripped me. Now it needs to be understood I suffer from CPTSD from childhood trauma, so when I say fear gripped me I mean it paralyzed me.
I stair intently at the window expecting it to either come crashing inward or be opened and a big bad mean person come in. I try to open my eyes bigger to allow more light in to see what is going to get me. Then I hear the scrapping noise again, I am terrified. I force myself to roll over and pick up the phone on my wife's side of the bed (before the days of cell phones) and diled 911. As I am speaking to the operator she informs me that she has dispatched the police, but we lived about 7 miles from town and most were on patrol futher away, I knew I was dead.
The fear in my voice tells the operator that the sense of danger is increasing, my death is immanent. I report that the scrapping has grown more intense, in fact it appears that whoever is on the outside of the window can hear me talking and is increasing their efforts to get in. The operator instructs me to stop talking. She however continues to give me updates on how close the police are.
Without warning the darkness of my bedroom is shattered with a flood of bright light. The police had arrived and had pulled up into the yard next to the house with every light on their cars bathing the house. It looked as if every police car in town was in my yard.
As soon as they pulled up the scrapping stopped, it seemed as if the bad man ran off.
They searched around the house, they searched the woods, they searched throughout the house, they found nothing. No foot prints, no scrap marks, no nothing.
I was sure of what I heard, this could not have been a flashback or my mind playing tricks, or could it.
After the police was sure I felt safe they left. Me, I went back to my bedroom, leaving every light in the house on, and sat facing the window...when I heard the scrapping noise again. My heart raced but I was not calling the police again, I mustered up courage and started searching for the source of the sound. I approched the window with extreme caution and quickly pulled back the curtain, nothing. I stood their listening intently and realized the sound was coming not from outside, but inside my closet. My fear took on new heights. I approched the closet and opened the door, the scrapping stopped. I saw nothing out of sorts.
I remained quiet and soon the scrapping started again, I directed my attention to a box on the floor. My wife had started organizing some of her clothes and had left an empty box in the closet. I reached down and opened the flap, there inside looking back up at me was Meko, our cat. Before my wife left for work Meko snuck in the closet and after the door was closed jumped on the empty box falling in and causing the flaps to close in over her. She was scratching the flaps in an attempt to get out. When I opened the flaps she appeared to be happy to see me and eagerly let me pick her up.
I of course was relieved but vowed to never tell of the cat in the box.