I’ll do my best to be mercifully brief, both for your benefit as well as my own. I don’t know how long my wi-fi access, or my phone’s battery, will last.

I recently got my first taste of freedom, away from home, attending college on the opposite coast of the U.S. from where I grew up. To protect my anonymity, I don’t want to say exactly where I live or lived.

If you knew any more details, you might be able to find the news articles about me. You wouldn’t believe me, then. You’d think I was nuts.

Hell, I wouldn’t believe me, either.

My parents, especially my mom, were desperate to see me for the holidays. At first, I’d planned to skip Thanksgiving and come home over winter break, mainly to save money, but my mom was insistent.

She promised to buy me the tickets herself. How could I refuse? I was a broke student, after all.

When she e-mailed me the itinerary, I wanted to cry. The tickets came in four separate e-mails, not even the same airline but a couple of different ones—airlines whose names you would recognize, and not in a good way.

Worst of all, I had four connections. I may have been traveling cross-country, but I wasn’t crossing the world. I had no idea how there could even be so many. One of the connections gave me only forty minutes between flights, two days before Thanksgiving, on what had to be one of the busiest travel days of the year.

The thing about my mom is that she’s frugal to a fault. To her, the cheapest ticket is the best ticket. Any amount of physical or psychological torment is worth saving a few dollars.

Especially when the torment was not her own.

The funny thing is, I used to enjoy flying. Something about it felt magical, like traveling between worlds. You climb into a sealed compartment and, however many hours later, emerge to find yourself someplace else.

Even though I knew it would be a grueling day of travel, at least I had something to look forward to on the other side. Mom’s turkey stuffing was to die for, and I didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

So that’s how I found myself at the airport before the crack of dawn, one among many weary-eyed travelers ready to be abused by the T.S.A. Shuffling forward, dragging my baggage behind me, I felt my eyes watering and nose running. I sneezed loudly into my sleeve as I approached the agent and showed him my boarding passes and I.D.

Many people in line gave me dirty looks, but I wasn’t sick. I had allergies. They always act up in the fall, and the grass and weeds around my college dorm had made them even worse.

The agent scanned my I.D. and quickly flipped through my stack of boarding passes. He whistled softly to himself. As he returned them to me, he asked, “Who bought these tickets? The devil?”

I tried to smile. “My mom.”

“Sheesh,” he said. “I mean, sorry.” He waved me through, and I moved to my least favorite part of the airport experience.

I removed my shoes and took out my electronics and liquids, sorting my belongings into plastic bins ready to be sent down the conveyor belt, praying that I would not get selectively screened.

“No, no,” a woman behind me said, and I turned to meet the eyes of a disgruntled agent. “Leave your electronics and liquids in your bag. It’s different now. Don’t take them out.”

Behind her shoulder, I saw a sign that said the exact opposite, but I wasn’t about to contradict her. Suitably chastised, I packed my things then queued in front of the scanner. I could hear the woman shouting behind me, announcing to the rest of the line that they shouldn’t take out their electronics either.

Once through security, I put on my shoes, collected my things, and ran to my gate. I was a bit late, so I didn’t bother grabbing anything to eat. My allergies, unfortunately, were somehow getting worse. I sneezed multiple times while in line, attracting a few more dirty looks. When I started to blow my nose, it was even worse. Everyone was giving me a wide berth.

Rummaging through my bag, I found my allergy medication and popped one of the pills into my mouth. I knew it would make me tired, but I hoped it would help me sleep on the plane.

When I reached the front of the line, the airline employee scanned my ticket, and a green light flashed. As I was about to walk forward, she cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me, sir. You can only bring one carry-on on board.” If my mom had bought a better ticket, I would’ve been able to bring both a carry-on and a personal item, but of course, she hadn’t.

“I am?” I said. I gestured at my single bag.

“No,” she said, sounding annoyed with me. “You have two items.” She pointed at my neck pillow, which I’d clipped onto the handle.

“That’s a separate item?” I asked. I’d brought it with me plenty of times and had never had an issue.

“Yes, sir. Your entire carry-on must fit within these dimensions.” She gestured to one of the baggage size charts behind her. “Please fit everything into your bag.”

My carry-on was already full to bursting. I tried to squeeze in the pillow, but it was impossible. I could feel the annoyance of my fellow passengers, their eyes burning holes in my back.

“You know what?” I said at last, exasperated. “Never mind.” I took the pillow, tossed it in the trash, then walked down the tunnel to the plane.

The flight was almost full, but I realized my mom had done me one small favor. All my seats were window seats, and miraculously, I realized the rest of my row was empty.

I waited for someone else to board and sit in the middle or aisle seats next to me, but no one did. The aircraft door closed, and we pulled away from the gate, much to my relief.

The flight ended up being delayed due to another plane in front of us having mechanical issues. Every minute we waited cut into my already tight schedule, but there was nothing I could do, and I tried my best to relax.

We sat on the tarmac for long enough that my meds kicked in, and I drifted off to sleep. The hum of the plane, that constant white noise, comforted me.

I awoke to turbulence, my neck crooked and sore. The cabin lights were off, and the windows throughout the plane were closed. That was strange, I thought. The flight was during the day. Didn’t they usually leave the lights on during the day?

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With a start, I noticed someone was sitting in my row. A man had taken the aisle seat. I tried to turn my head to look at him, but I couldn’t move. From the corner of my eye, he seemed more a shadow than a person, but he wore a long, dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat.

I thought it was strange to wear a hat on a plane. He turned to me, face still in shadow, and nodded.

He smiled at me, white teeth gleaming in the dark. I tried to move my arms or legs, but I couldn’t. My breathing felt shallow, and my head felt light. I cursed myself for taking the allergy medication. I’d heard they could mess you up during a flight.

I tried to will my muscles to move, but my body felt like it weighed a ton. I managed to lift my hand, but then my vision darkened. His smile seemed to grow in the moments before I fell back asleep.

I awoke to a nudge on my shoulder. It was the woman from the gate who had complained about my neck pillow. I hadn’t realized she was a stewardess.

The lights were on, and sunlight poured into the cabin through countless windows. All the other seats were empty.

I realized, with excitement, that we had landed. The first leg of the trip was over. But I’d somehow slept through it.

“Excuse me, sir,” the stewardess said in her usual annoyed tone. “It’s time to disembark.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, grabbing my bag and running out.

My head still felt fuzzy. I emerged from the plane into the bright, sterile light of the airport. I regretted taking that allergy medicine. Thankfully, all I needed to do was reach my next gate. I pulled out my phone to check the time, but the battery had died.

I cursed under my breath, then approached the departures board. I spotted my next destination and sighed. It was in the next terminal, but I still had time. I could make it if I ran like hell.

I followed the signs through the airport, moving from terminal C to B. But as I tried to enter terminal B, I realized I had again found myself in line for airport security.

I looked around in a panic. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I wasn’t supposed to go through security again after a connection, was I? Maybe for an international flight, but not a domestic one.

I felt my stomach growl as I joined the queue, but I had no time to grab a snack. I would have to get one during my flight, if I even made it.

The line took ages, though. A couple in front of me got into an argument with the agent that I couldn’t hear, and it closed down one of the lanes. By the time I made it past the agent—they made no comment about my itinerary, thankfully—and to the plastic bins, a glance at the clock on the wall told me I only had fifteen minutes left.

I made it through the full-body scanner, but my heart sank when I saw a T.S.A. agent hold up my suitcase and ask, “Whose bag is this?”

“Mine,” I said, and they scowled at me.

“You didn’t take out your electronics and liquids,” he said. “I need to search your bag.”

“I’m in a hurry,” I replied, but he only glared at me and pointed at a sign on the wall.

It said, very clearly, to remove electronics and liquids from baggage.

My heart was pounding when I made it to my gate. No one was left in the queue, only a single steward standing by the door. He scanned my ticket and then waved me through.

“You almost missed it!” he said, smiling at me.

In hindsight, I wish I had.

I was the last person to board, and I felt the annoyed looks of the other passengers as I searched for my seat. It was an empty row again, but I no longer cared. I still had three more flights after this one, and I was already exhausted. Thankfully, there was no delay in taking off this time, and we were soon in the air.

I lowered my tray table, hoping to buy something to eat, but when I asked the steward about it, he told me they didn’t have anything besides the complimentary pretzels and crackers they would hand out later, with the beverage service. This was only a two-hour flight this time, much shorter than my first, and they didn’t sell proper meals on such a short flight.

My stomach grumbled, and I sighed. He offered me beer or wine for a fee, but I shook my head. Neither of those would help—quite the opposite.

Though I tried to stay awake, the hum of the plane, its gentle rocking, lulled me to sleep. I never even made it to the pretzels or crackers.

When I awoke, the plane was dark again. I tried to open the window to look outside, but I couldn’t move. With a considerable effort, I managed to turn my neck enough to see the aisle.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. In his hat and coat, the same man as before looked back at me. He sat there motionless, smiling calmly as if he knew a secret.

I tried to say something, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I put all my force of will into lifting my hand, and I barely managed to raise it above the armrest.

I pointed at the man, my finger shaking. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, my heart thumping from the exertion. The air is thinner on a plane, of course. You get less oxygen. But this was something else, too. The feeling was beyond anything I’d ever experienced, as if the man held me prisoner there, trapped in a cell at forty thousand feet.

Even just raising my arm had tired me, and my vision started to darken again. The man’s smile grew wider as I passed out.

When I finally woke up, I was slumped forward, neck bent, passed out on my tray table. Every part of my body ached.

“Excuse me, sir. Please raise your tray table before landing.”

My heart skipped a beat at the voice, and as I slowly turned my eyes towards her, I realized the truth—it was the same stewardess—the one who’d complained about my neck pillow. Panicking, I tried to grab my phone, but it was still dead.

“Where are we?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“Please, sir,” she said, pointing at my tray table. “We’ll be landing soon.”

I stowed the tray table and tried to massage my neck in vain. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. The aisle seat was empty, with no trace of the man.

An announcement came over the P.A. saying that we’d be landing soon. Landing in the city we’d just departed from. Part of me wondered if I had lost my sanity. Another part wondered if this was all an elaborate trick. If a camera crew would jump out any minute and tell me I'd been pranked. Maybe my mom had been in on it.

I disembarked with the other passengers at the same airport I’d just left. None of them seemed to notice or care. They scattered in every direction as I warily approached the departures board.

I had about thirty minutes to make my connection. Enough time, if I ran like hell, to board the flight I’d just been on.

It was as if I’d never left.

I laughed like a madman, and the rest of the crowd moved away. It’s okay. I understand. You never want to stand next to a crazy person in an airport.

Though my mind was already starting to break, I walked to terminal B and went through security again. I got there a little earlier this time. I plugged in my phone and sent a text to my mom. I told her I was sorry. I told her I didn’t think I would make it to Thanksgiving this year. I told her I didn’t know what was happening to me, but it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t, was it? What did I do to deserve this?

While I had wi-fi, I did a search, trying to understand what was happening to me. That was when I first learned he was called the hat man.

I wish I could tell you how many times I boarded that plane. How many times I saw the hat man watching over me as I slept.

But I lost count.

I tried everything. I grabbed food before my flight and missed it on purpose. I bought a ticket I couldn’t afford for a later flight instead. I tried leaving the airport and going to a hotel. But sooner or later, I have to sleep. When I wake up, I’m back where I started, with that same stewardess poking my shoulder.

Every time I awaken, I have an insane hope that this will be the last time. That I might finally reach my destination. A feeling of dread washes over me when I see that coat, that hat, that smile.

It might have taken a hundred flights, or a thousand, until I finally broke.

I lurched out of my chair, breaking free of my sleep paralysis through sheer rage, screaming in his face as we both tumbled into the aisle. Someone shouted for help a few rows behind us.

“You’re not real!” I screamed, beating my fists against his shadowed face, trying to erase the gleam of his empty smile. “You’re not even fucking real!”

The cabin lights came on, illuminating my bloody hands. The hat man was gone as if he’d never existed. I couldn’t help but smile when the air marshal handcuffed me and dragged me to the back of the plane.

Because for a moment, I thought I was finally free.

I wish I could tell you that was the end. But the truth is that later, after I was taken to a holding facility and put on the no fly list, after the news reports and the viral videos, after hearing my mom cry on the phone and tell me she didn’t deserve this, after all that, I eventually needed to sleep again.

And when I woke up, he was still smiling.