Sleep Is Death

Sleep Paralysis

That night was the first time I was so afraid, I thought I'd die.

After the action movie ended, we all decided to head to bed since it was too late to try to watch Twilight. Megan was dozing off on Lauren's shoulder, annoying her with her silky, brown hair that stuck to Lauren's lipgloss.

Angela and Amy went down the hall first, then Lauren and Megan. Ethan and I stayed with Tyler, heading back and forth to and from the car to get our luggage. I wanted to confront him about telling my story to his friends, but every time we were alone, I'd open my mouth and take a breath, but nothing but air would come out. My chest was tight, like it was engulfed in a firm fist, and my legs would shake when I stood behind him while he was sifting through his trunk.

I knew it would come out in the papers, but that was what I was comfortable with. In that way, I would have control over how my story was told. It wouldn't be sensationalized like what's expected of gossip, and some people would be granted anonymity.

When we brought in the last bag, I decided to let it go for that night. We were all tired, and I knew he'd only argue with me, which was something I didn't have the energy for.

Tyler sent me to the last door on the left, a guest room across from Lauren and Angela. They were awake when I was stowing my suitcase in the closet, but it wasn't long before they yelled out goodnight one after the other, like the ending of The Waltons.

I changed into dolphin shorts and a long black T-shirt that fell down my body like a loose dress, and I wrapped myself in their linen and my afghan. I held the knitted blanket close to my face and inhaled as my eyes closed.

I didn't miss Columbia, but part of me wished I'd have at least told Jay where I went. I took in the smell of dryer sheets and detergent—vanilla and wildflowers—and the scent brought me to a time when I was the happiest I'd ever been.

The day I met Kristin.

But that's a story for another time.

I eventually fell asleep, and all was well. I dreamt, but of what I didn't remember. I woke up to distant, eerie voices. The room was shrouded in darkness, but the light seeping in through the window above my headboard cast bright shadows in different corners of the room.

There was the vintage dresser across from me, but instead of the snowglobe, trinkets, and a hygiene basket, there sat the black figure I thought I had overcome. It sat, slouched on its toes, with its hands gripping the dresser's edge. It was smiling like The Cheshire Cat, displaying its teeth so sharp they could shred through flesh with little to no effort.

Yet, I couldn't move.

My chest rose up and down with shallow breaths, and I knew my mouth was open because my tongue was dry. I couldn't blink the eyes I wanted to widen, and I couldn't take a bigger breath to scream. I couldn't move my fingers or toes, but my arm and leg hair stood up.

It felt like something was pressing against my chest, but there was nothing there.

It slowly stood to its full height with its arms dangling in front of it, and that smile never faltered. I couldn't move my eyes, so they remained on the legs, blacker than soot and thin as bones. I watched the knees bend and straighten as it walked closer. At no point did it step off the dresser, so it approached as if suspended in the air, but the knees bent to mimic natural movement.

My heart began to beat faster and faster as it flew closer and closer. It left a trail of black, like slime under a snail, and it coated everything beneath it: the dresser top and now the linen.

It stopped above my pelvis, its legs gently swaying back and forth. I could only see its feet. The skin flaked off its flesh like burned pieces of a house. The dark grey toenails were as long and pointed as a bear's claws, and they curled under the feet, stopping at the heels.