The Night I Met the Hat Man: A True Encounter with Darkness

Twenty years ago or more, I had an encounter that shook me to my core—an experience more terrifying than anything I'd faced in my years as a paranormal investigator. And that’s saying something.

It was a Saturday night. I’d spent the evening ghost hunting out on the Gettysburg Battlefield—something I’d done countless times before. That night, instead of heading home, I decided to stay at my parents’ house and sleep in my old room. It was familiar, comforting… or so I thought.

I had no trouble falling asleep. But sometime deep into the night, I jolted awake. I didn’t know why. There wasn’t a sound, not even the creak of old floorboards or the hum of passing traffic. Just silence. Heavy and thick. The kind that makes your ears ring.

I remained motionless in the darkness, attempting to identify what had disturbed my sleep. The room was completely dark—no moonlight, no streetlight glow, and no curtains on the windows to obstruct the emptiness outside. It was then that I looked toward the foot of my bed.

And I saw him.

A tall, dark figure stood there. Not just a shadow, but a presence—solid yet somehow not. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, like a gaucho or old-fashioned fedora, and a long trench coat or collared jacket that draped over him like smoke. His hand—clearly visible—was wrapped around one of the white-painted posts of my four-poster bed.

The fear that flooded me in that moment wasn’t just the typical “oh no, there’s a ghost in my room” kind of fear. It was deeper. Primal. It was the kind of fear that tells you, whatever that is, it’s not just passing through—it’s here for a reason, and it’s not a good one.

I squeezed my eyes shut and began reciting The Lord’s Prayer on a loop. I didn’t stop until I saw the first hint of dawn filter through the window.

When I finally got up, I tried to shake it off. I had to go to work. I started getting ready, but there was a problem—my glasses were missing. That might not sound strange… but I have a routine. A specific spot where I place them every night, without fail—directly in front of my alarm clock. And they were gone. Not on the floor, not under the bed, not anywhere near the clock.

Eventually, I had to leave without them—15 minutes late and practically blind.

Thankfully, my supervisor at the time was also a paranormal enthusiast, and she was more interested in the story than the tardiness. I told her what had happened, and we both got chills. A few minutes later, from the back room, she called out, “I thought you couldn’t find your glasses?”

“I didn’t,” I replied.

“Well, they’re sitting on top of your clothes. In your bag.”

I ran to check, and there they were. My glasses were neatly perched on top of my clothes. But I had packed that bag myself. I know they weren’t there before. I know they weren’t anywhere.

It was several years later that I stumbled across an article referencing a figure known as The Hat Man. My blood ran cold. The wide-brimmed hat, the coat, the paralyzing fear—it was all there, described in detail by someone else. And then another story. And another. I soon found hundreds of reports from around the world. Encounters that echoed mine almost exactly.

The Hat Man: Shared Hallucination or Something Much Darker?

These are the most common traits reported in Hat Man sightings:

• A tall, humanoid figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat (often compared to a gaucho or fedora)

• Dressed in a long trench coat or collared cloak

• Commonly appears in bedrooms—frequently at the foot of the bed

• Sometimes has glowing red eyes, though often has no facial features at all

• Elicits a deep, instinctive fear—some describe being frozen, unable to move or speak

• Appears strangely two-dimensional, like a living shadow

• Often shows up after repeated encounters with shadow people

• Some witnesses only see him once, others are visited multiple times

Many believe the Hat Man isn’t just another type of ghost or apparition. Some speculate he’s a malevolent entity, a demon, or an interdimensional being. Others think he’s a monitor—watching those with psychic abilities, spiritual sensitivities, or ties to the paranormal.

Whatever he is, I don’t want to see him again.

Have You Seen Him?

If you’ve had an encounter with the Hat Man—or with any shadow person—I want to hear your story!

I’m collecting firsthand accounts for future episodes of Lurk, and your experience could help others understand what they’ve seen… or what might still be watching them.

📧 Send your story to: lurkpodcast@yahoo.com

Sleep tight. And maybe… keep a light on.