Recurring

It is 3:00 AM and I'm once again sitting up in bed and clutching at my pounding heart. I'm soaked with sweat, my hands are clammy, the color has drained from my face and my body has gone completely numb. I should be used to this state of terror by now – after all, I wake up in it at least four times a week.

I blindly reach for my lamp in the darkness of my room, trying to steady my breathing. My trembling fingers find the switch and I squeeze my eyes shut as the light floods my bedroom. I know what you're thinking, but no, I'm not trying to brace myself for the shock of the bright light to better prepare my eyes to adjust to it. I'm too afraid that the paperwhite ghost from my nightmare is in here with me and that when I open my eyes, they'll meet his glowing blood red ones.

The nightmare is always the same, but it has become more and more terrifying over the years since it began plaguing me as a small child.

Allow me to explain.

It starts innocently enough. I'm flying like Peter Pan through the air in the inky black night sky, marveling at the glittering hues of purple, blue, and gray splashed across it. The moon is always right above me, larger than life and full and bright. The moon always soothes me in the dream as I soar over the large gothic castle below me and I'm comforted by the thought that the man on the moon is keeping watch over me.

This, my dear reader, is when everything goes to shit.

One minute I'm flying carelessly and happily through the air and feeling the warm summer breeze on my face, and the next I am trapped inside the castle running for my life. There is no transition from the sky to the castle; no crash landing, no floating to the ground and landing on my feet, no soaring through the foreboding front door of the Gothic structure. I'm just inside, tearing barefoot through the dark, dank stone corridors of this dilapidated and abandoned castle, my eyes darting around wildly as I try to find my way to the exit and praying in vain that my pursuer will not catch me before I reach it.

Then I end up at a narrow, dark spiral stairway made of stone that is just wide enough to fit my tiny frame through. I enter it despite my instincts screaming at me to run the other way, feeling as though I am being pulled by some invisible force towards the lower level of the castle. No matter how hard I try to resist – and I do try very hard – I always end up carefully creeping down the staircase with my back and clammy palms flat against the wall, keeping myself from being squished and blindly feeling my way along until I reach the bottom step.

The overwhelming feeling of relief that passes through me is like a breath of fresh air as I take that last step, and I feel victorious and clever; chuckling to myself as I foolishly think I have evaded my pursuer and found an exit.

I step out from the large stone alcove covering the staircase and come face to face with him. I don't know him, but he always seems so familiar, as if I've known him all my life. His name is always on the tip of my tongue, but I can never make a sound. The sheer panic that takes over me as his crimson orbs lock onto mine suffocates me and I am frozen in place, helpless and terrified as he circles me the way a hawk does before descending upon its prey. He is inhumanly beautiful despite his alarming appearance, with a delicate yet sharp facial structure, large almond-shaped eyes, perfectly angled eyebrows, and high cheekbones. His skin is paper white, yet he is almost translucent. He is taller than me with a lanky yet surprisingly athletic build, and his pin-straight white hair reaches his shoulders. He is dressed in Victorian clothing and looks as though he must have been regarded as royalty once upon a time, and although he has feet, they don't touch the ground. He just... glides.

He circles me and relishes in my tremors, a mocking smirk stretching across his thin lips as he finally comes to 'stand' before me. His eyes bore into mine and I just know deep down inside that he is seeing my thoughts, my fears, my dreams, my hammering heart, and my shriveled lungs as they struggle to take in air. He watches as I shiver, goosebumps rising on my flesh and causing the hairs on my arms to painfully stand on end. His presence always causes the temperature in the room to drop below freezing and the cold, drafty air in the room hurts me.