I was 6 years old, in 1st grade. My dad worked out of town and he stayed in a small pull-behind camper. On weekends he would make the drive back home to see us. I was an only child at that time.
Sometimes on the weekend, if my Dad had put in a lot of hours at his manual labor job, my mom and I would make the trip down to see him instead.
In the small camper, there was a full size bed to the right, which doubled as the ‘living room’. On the left, through the ‘kitchen’ there was a tiny twin bunking area with a sliding door. My parents slept in the front, and I slept in the back.
Every night, a woman would appear near my bunk. I was petrified of her. My 6 year old self referred to her as ‘the witch’. I would silently cry with the covers pulled tightly around my body, sweating, staring at her as she stood there watching me.
I remember her as an older woman, dark and gloomy, although her face didn’t have distinctive features. Her eyes were hollow and her hair was long and stringy. The air in the room would take on a sort of damp, thick, almost musty odor. She never spoke to me. She never moved. She just stood there all night long.
Looking back, her presence was never threatening towards me. But her appearance terrified 6 year old me.
That's Not Me 
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