When I was younger my family was extremely poor and lived in a very old mobile home on some land my grandpa owned. This piece of land was in a very small town out in the middle of nowhere Texas and was covered in woods. The town itself was your typical small country town where football was king and there was nothing to do but get drunk or high on the weekend. It was also the type of town, along with it being early 90s, where one didn't typically have to worry too much about locking their doors or setting an alarm.
Now, our trailer was a two bedroom and my parents, always putting us kids ahead of themselves, slept in the living room on a fold out couch. My room was directly connected to it and my sisters room was down a hallway past the kitchen and bathroom at the other end of the trailer.
One night, after everyone had gone to bed, my dad is woken up by a feeling that there is someone in the room. He looks around a bit and sees a large male figure sitting in the easy chair just feet from the bed. My dad quickly flipped on the light switch next to his bed and saw it was a neighbor from down the road named Carter. Carter was known to be a frequent drug user and was often in trouble with the law because of thise.
My dad asked him what the fuck he was doing here and told him to get out and he responded. "I can't get out. The demons are chasing me and your house is the only safe one." My dad, who I should is fairly large and terrifying person, responded that if he didn't get out and get out quickly that the house would be a lot less safe for him. "If I leave they'll get me! They've been chasing me all night. If they catch me I'm dead." My dad's response was that there was no demons but that if he didn't get the fuck out of his house that he'd be dead. From what I've been told, since I was asleep for this part, my mom also hurled a few threats and, while she may not be big, she was equally as terrifying. I believe it was her anger that finally scared him off.
My dad got up and locked the door and watched through the blinds as Carter decided, since he couldn't outrun the demons he'd steal our old beater Suburban that my dad always left the keys in. He drove around for about an hour. We called the police and it took them about that long to get out to us since the closest police station was about 20 or 30 minutes away. He finally brought it back and was arrested and taken to jail. He was deemed crazy and ended up locked in a mental institution.
The scarier part is that for years after this we'd get phone calls where all we'd here is music that would have lyrics like "I'm going to fucking kill you!" These calls lasted for years and followed us from house to house even though we always had different numbers and would even be in different states. We always thought it was him sending us a message.
The calls stopped when I was about 12. I later found out that it was around that time that Carter thought the best thing he could do for himself was soak himself in gasoline and set himself on fire.