It started with a scream.

  Not just a startled cry, but something deeper—frightened, sharp, and real. It ripped through the early morning stillness of their shared room, snapping him awake.

  They all slept in the same room—him, his older twin siblings, one sister and one brother, just a year ahead of him. The room was dim, lit only by the orange hallway light spilling under the door. But something was wrong.

  His sister was standing up, pale, shaking, pointing toward the corner by the wardrobe.

  “There was a monkey,” she whispered. “A ghost. Right there. It was just watching us.”

  He and his brother sat up slowly, eyes wide, staring into the corner. Nothing was there now. Just shadows. But the air felt strange—charged, almost heavy. Like something had just been there.

  And now it was gone.

  By the time their mother burst into the room, arms reaching for his sister, the monkey had already disappeared.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She cried into their mother’s shoulder, trembling. Their father followed, more cautious, his eyes scanning the room.

  “What did she see?” he asked.

  “She says it was a monkey ghost,” their mother replied quietly, brushing her hair back. “In the corner.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  Instead, he stepped into the room and looked toward the wardrobe.

  He didn’t find anything—but he looked for a long time.

  Later, their parents argued in hushed tones in the kitchen. Their mother said it was just a dream. Their father wasn’t so sure. He mentioned strange energy, bad sleep, a feeling like something was *off* in the apartment.

  No one brought it up again.

  But no one forgot.

  They left the lamp on after that. His sister stayed closer to the wall. His brother became quiet, watching the corners more than usual. And even though he hadn’t seen the monkey himself… he felt it too.

  Then came the bus ride.

  Cold morning. Clouds hanging low. He was pressed to the window, watching the streets go by.

  And then—he saw it.

  A monkey, walking upright, calmly moving along the sidewalk.

  It wore a full *NASA spacesuit*—white, bulky, shining faintly in the gray light. Its helmet visor reflected the buildings, the sky. It moved like it belonged there.

  Then—

  It turned its head toward him.

  And even through the mirrored visor, he *knew* it was looking directly at him.

  His breath caught.

  And then—it was gone.

  The sidewalk curved. The bus turned. The figure vanished behind them like a ghost into fog.

  That night, the three of them lay in bed in silence.

  Then, into the dark, he whispered:

  “I saw it too.”

  No response at first.

  Then his sister said softly, “It disappeared… just before they came.”

  And his brother muttered, “I felt it. That morning.”

  They didn’t talk about it again.

  But the corners of their room never felt quite empty after that.