The Woman in Red — How I Was Almost Led Away
Two dreams, six months apart. The first one: a woman in red, watching me in a crowd. The second one: a boy leading me to a yellow world where the dead go. I almost followed him. My grandmother pulled me back at the last second.
They say you can\'t be dragged into the afterlife against your will. That you have to go willingly. What they don\'t tell you is how easy it is to trick someone into thinking they\'re choosing to follow.
This happened two years ago, in the fall.
There had been a lot of deaths that season. Three people I knew, within the span of a single month. My family was on edge, and nobody wanted to be alone.
That particular weekend, I had the house to myself. I tried to go to bed early, telling myself it was just the stress, just the heaviness in the air. I fell asleep around 1 AM.
I woke up at 2:47 AM.
Not gradually. Not because of a noise. I woke up the way you do when you suddenly realize you\'re not alone in a dark room. Heart pounding. Hands trembling. Sweaty.
The dream. The dream was still vivid.
I was standing in a crowd. Dozens of people, maybe more. They were all walking in the same direction, silent, expressionless. And right there, in the crowd—watching me—was a woman in a red dress. Red, like deep red. Like blood. She just stared. Directly at me. No blinking. No looking away.
I shot upright in bed, grabbed my phone, and stared at the time. 2:47 AM.
When my family got back, I told them about the dream. My aunt was the one who heard me out. She went quiet for a long time. Then she said she\'d heard about people dying back-to-back like that—it pulls things close. The veil gets thin. She drove out that same afternoon and came back with a small jade charm. Said a priest had blessed it. She hung it above the door.
I thought that was the end of it.
---
Six months later.
It was a quiet weekend. My grandmother and I drove out to the family property in Ridgemont—a small rural town about two hours outside the city. Nothing eventful happened that morning. I woke up, had breakfast with my grandmother, and felt... off. Tired. Not normal tired—deeper than that. Like my bones were heavy.
I went back to bed after lunch. Just an hour, I thought.
I was asleep within seconds.
The dream was short at first. I couldn\'t hold onto it. But when I finally woke up, it was already 4 in the afternoon. My grandmother was upset. I\'d slept through the entire day. I apologized, ate dinner, and went back to bed early.
That\'s when it happened.
In the dream, I was back in my old apartment. I could feel everything—the texture of the carpet, the draft from the window, the smell of cooking oil from the neighbor\'s unit. Tyler, my landlord\'s grandson, was holding my hand. He was grinning. Just grinning, the way kids do when they\'re about to show you something exciting.
He tugged my hand and started walking toward the door.
I knew I was dreaming. I was completely aware of it. In the dream, I even reached over and locked the door behind us. I asked him where we were going. He didn\'t answer—just kept smiling.
We walked down the stairs. The building was quiet, but it didn\'t feel right. Too still. Too dark.
Then I stepped outside.
The sky was the color of old rust. Amber. Yellow. Like late afternoon but wrong—so wrong it made my stomach drop. And everywhere, people were walking. Not running. Not panicking. Just... walking. All in the same direction. Like a current. Like water flowing downstream.
I froze.
That\'s when I saw her.
The woman in red. Standing maybe thirty feet away. Watching me. Her dress was the same deep red. Her face was... empty. Not frightening exactly—just empty. Like a photograph of a person, not the real thing.
Tyler turned around. His smile wasn\'t right anymore. It was too wide. Too still.
This is where the dead go, he said.
I couldn\'t move. My body felt like it was filled with static. He started pulling me forward, toward the crowd, toward the direction everyone else was walking.
Then I heard someone calling my name.
Not Tyler. Not the woman. Someone real. Someone close.
I felt myself being pulled back—out of the dream, out of the yellow, out of the current. I snapped awake on the bed, gasping. My sheets were soaked through with sweat. The room was spinning. Every muscle in my body ached like I\'d run a marathon.
My grandmother was hunched over the bed, gripping my hand, her face white as paper.
She\'d come in to check on me because I\'d been making sounds—crying out, talking nonsense, thrashing. She\'d been calling my name, the childhood nickname she\'d used since I was a baby, over and over, for what felt like an eternity before I finally woke up.
When I told her about the dream, she went very still.
She knew what it meant.
In the old stories—the ones she\'d grown up with—when someone in a dream calls your name and asks you to follow, they\'re not calling you at all. They\'re opening a door. And if you follow them through, you don\'t come back.
She said the only thing that saved me was that she\'d come into the room when she did. That she\'d kept saying my name—my real name, my given name—pulling me back to the surface before the door closed.
After that, I couldn\'t shake the feeling that something had almost happened. And then I heard the news: Tyler, the landlord\'s grandson, had gotten seriously ill that spring. For no reason anyone could explain, he\'d gone from a healthy six-year-old to being bedridden for weeks. Then his little sister got sick too.
The doctor couldn\'t explain it. Neither could anyone else.
I stopped sleeping alone after that. And I never, ever leave the jade charm down.
---
Have you ever had a dream that felt more like a warning? Share your story at CreepyVibes.
This happened two years ago, in the fall.
There had been a lot of deaths that season. Three people I knew, within the span of a single month. My family was on edge, and nobody wanted to be alone.
That particular weekend, I had the house to myself. I tried to go to bed early, telling myself it was just the stress, just the heaviness in the air. I fell asleep around 1 AM.
I woke up at 2:47 AM.
Not gradually. Not because of a noise. I woke up the way you do when you suddenly realize you\'re not alone in a dark room. Heart pounding. Hands trembling. Sweaty.
The dream. The dream was still vivid.
I was standing in a crowd. Dozens of people, maybe more. They were all walking in the same direction, silent, expressionless. And right there, in the crowd—watching me—was a woman in a red dress. Red, like deep red. Like blood. She just stared. Directly at me. No blinking. No looking away.
I shot upright in bed, grabbed my phone, and stared at the time. 2:47 AM.
When my family got back, I told them about the dream. My aunt was the one who heard me out. She went quiet for a long time. Then she said she\'d heard about people dying back-to-back like that—it pulls things close. The veil gets thin. She drove out that same afternoon and came back with a small jade charm. Said a priest had blessed it. She hung it above the door.
I thought that was the end of it.
---
Six months later.
It was a quiet weekend. My grandmother and I drove out to the family property in Ridgemont—a small rural town about two hours outside the city. Nothing eventful happened that morning. I woke up, had breakfast with my grandmother, and felt... off. Tired. Not normal tired—deeper than that. Like my bones were heavy.
I went back to bed after lunch. Just an hour, I thought.
I was asleep within seconds.
The dream was short at first. I couldn\'t hold onto it. But when I finally woke up, it was already 4 in the afternoon. My grandmother was upset. I\'d slept through the entire day. I apologized, ate dinner, and went back to bed early.
That\'s when it happened.
In the dream, I was back in my old apartment. I could feel everything—the texture of the carpet, the draft from the window, the smell of cooking oil from the neighbor\'s unit. Tyler, my landlord\'s grandson, was holding my hand. He was grinning. Just grinning, the way kids do when they\'re about to show you something exciting.
He tugged my hand and started walking toward the door.
I knew I was dreaming. I was completely aware of it. In the dream, I even reached over and locked the door behind us. I asked him where we were going. He didn\'t answer—just kept smiling.
We walked down the stairs. The building was quiet, but it didn\'t feel right. Too still. Too dark.
Then I stepped outside.
The sky was the color of old rust. Amber. Yellow. Like late afternoon but wrong—so wrong it made my stomach drop. And everywhere, people were walking. Not running. Not panicking. Just... walking. All in the same direction. Like a current. Like water flowing downstream.
I froze.
That\'s when I saw her.
The woman in red. Standing maybe thirty feet away. Watching me. Her dress was the same deep red. Her face was... empty. Not frightening exactly—just empty. Like a photograph of a person, not the real thing.
Tyler turned around. His smile wasn\'t right anymore. It was too wide. Too still.
This is where the dead go, he said.
I couldn\'t move. My body felt like it was filled with static. He started pulling me forward, toward the crowd, toward the direction everyone else was walking.
Then I heard someone calling my name.
Not Tyler. Not the woman. Someone real. Someone close.
I felt myself being pulled back—out of the dream, out of the yellow, out of the current. I snapped awake on the bed, gasping. My sheets were soaked through with sweat. The room was spinning. Every muscle in my body ached like I\'d run a marathon.
My grandmother was hunched over the bed, gripping my hand, her face white as paper.
She\'d come in to check on me because I\'d been making sounds—crying out, talking nonsense, thrashing. She\'d been calling my name, the childhood nickname she\'d used since I was a baby, over and over, for what felt like an eternity before I finally woke up.
When I told her about the dream, she went very still.
She knew what it meant.
In the old stories—the ones she\'d grown up with—when someone in a dream calls your name and asks you to follow, they\'re not calling you at all. They\'re opening a door. And if you follow them through, you don\'t come back.
She said the only thing that saved me was that she\'d come into the room when she did. That she\'d kept saying my name—my real name, my given name—pulling me back to the surface before the door closed.
After that, I couldn\'t shake the feeling that something had almost happened. And then I heard the news: Tyler, the landlord\'s grandson, had gotten seriously ill that spring. For no reason anyone could explain, he\'d gone from a healthy six-year-old to being bedridden for weeks. Then his little sister got sick too.
The doctor couldn\'t explain it. Neither could anyone else.
I stopped sleeping alone after that. And I never, ever leave the jade charm down.
---
Have you ever had a dream that felt more like a warning? Share your story at CreepyVibes.