Black feathers keep appearing in my house. I think I know who’s leaving them.

I don't know where else to turn, and I need your advice. 

Things have gotten… weird. And scary. Aside from knitting, birdwatching has been my main hobby lately. It gets me out of the house, into nature. Peaceful, right? That’s what I thought. 

It started yesterday morning, really early. I was walking a trail near my place, it’s usually quiet, perfect for spotting birds. 

I got my camera out, totally absorbed, snapping pictures. When I finally looked up and turned to head back to the main trail, he was just… there. 

Standing right where the paths met. A guy, wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled all the way up, shadowing his face completely even though it wasn't cold or particularly bright out. 

Okay, maybe he’s goth, or just likes black? Fine. But he was just staring at me. Not moving, not speaking, just intense, unwavering staring. 

It was immediately unsettling. I felt pinned.

I tried to act normal, maybe give a little nod, but he didn't react. I started to walk back towards the main trail, planning to just pass him. 

That's when he started walking towards me. My stomach clenched. He stopped right in front of me, blocking my way. And then he started talking, but it wasn’t small talk. It felt like an interrogation.

"What's your favorite bird?" he asked, his voice flat, muffled by the hood.

Caught off guard, I stammered, "Uh, Oystercatchers, I guess?"

"Why do you like birds?"

"I… I don't know, they're beautiful? Free?" It sounded stupid even as I said it. I couldn’t answer that on the fly, who could?

"What kind of portraits do you do?" He must have seen my camera.

It wasn't casual curiosity. It felt pointed, invasive. 

I was really caught off guard, my mind racing. Before I could properly answer, he gestured vaguely towards the sky where a crow was circling. "Do you know what my favorite bird is?" he asked. I shook my head, feeling increasingly trapped. "Those ones," he said, nodding at the crow. "Blackbirds”

Okay, red flag. Big, flapping, goth red flag. 

Saying that to a complete stranger you've cornered on a trail? Weird. 

As he finished speaking about crows and their “meaning”, he reached into his hoodie pocket, and pulled something out. 

A single, glossy black feather. 

He held it out to me. "Here," he said. Not asked, told. I didn't want to touch it, but I felt compelled. My hand trembled as I took it. It felt cold, unnaturally smooth.

"It was good talking," I said, forcing a weak smile. I started walking away quickly, my heart pounding.

I half-expected him to follow, but when I glanced back, he was gone. I practically ran the rest of the way home, clutching that damn feather without realizing it until I was fumbling for my keys. I tossed it on the counter, trying to shake off the encounter. 

Just a weirdo, right? Happens sometimes. I tried to put it out of my mind.

But that same night, I opened my eyes to complete darkness. Something was wrong. A presence in the corner by my closet—a figure taller than humanly possible, impossibly thin, darker than the darkness itself. 

No features visible except... a pale glint where a face should be. I realized with horror what I was seeing: a long, curved beak catching some invisible light. 

My lungs seized. 

The thing tilted its head, an unnatural angle, as if studying me. I could hear soft, rhythmic breathing that wasn't mine. 

I lay paralyzed until dawn, convincing myself it was just a nightmare born from today's encounter. It had to be.

But then the feathers, oh the feathers. 

First, one on the kitchen floor. Okay, maybe it blew in when I opened the window. Then another on the bathroom rug. Strange, but maybe tracked in somehow? I swept them up, threw them away, tried to rationalize. 

But then yesterday evening, I found three black feathers under my pillow when I went to make my bed. My windows were closed. Not surprisingly, I didn't sleep much last night. 

Every creak of the house sounded like footsteps, every shadow looked like it was moving.

I’m scared.

An hour ago, I was getting ready for bed. The lights flickered once, twice—then died.

Total darkness. Power outages happen in rural New Mexico, but tonight? My blood crystallized in my veins.

Clutching my phone like a lifeline, I forced myself to the bathroom. The beam of light was the only source as I splashed water on my face. 

When I raised my eyes to the mirror—it was there. 

A presence that consumed the doorway, its height impossible, crown brushing the ceiling. Not just shadow but absence—except for its eyes. Two points of dull, burning red light fixed right on me.

The air turned arctic, and something caressed the nape of my neck—a breath cold as the grave. 

My scream died in my throat. We locked eyes for what seemed like hours, those burning points piercing into me, through me. When I finally wrenched myself around, nothing, the hallway stood empty. But the chill remained, settled deep in my marrow.

So, here I am. Sitting in the dark, phone battery draining, shaking. What the hell is happening? Am I losing my mind? Is this just extreme insomnia and stress manifesting as hallucinations because of that creepy guy on the trail? Or did he... do something? 

That feather… the talk about death messengers… Is this thing real? Has anyone ever experienced anything like this? Seeing figures? The feathers? What should I do? 

I feel like I’m being watched constantly. I’m terrified to fall asleep, but I’m exhausted. Please, any advice?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just… a lot.

Anyways, the sun will come up soon. I should probably get ready. I need to go back down to the river, by the wash. Maybe some other birdwatchers will be out today. The feather from yesterday is in my pocket now. 

It feels... important, somehow. These stupid, bright, colorful birds don't seem that interesting anymore. Just empty, fragile things.

Also, my reflection in the mirror looks different this morning. Something about my eyes. I like it.

I think I'll wear black today. It feels right.