Metallica one shots and headcannons

Beyond the darkness🕯(James Hetfield one shot)

It started the same as every night.

I lay in bed, my body heavy with the familiar weight of sleep, but my mind still aware, still conscious. Sleep paralysis—this wasn't the first time I'd experienced it. The crushing weight on my chest, the inability to move, to even twitch a finger, was all too familiar. Every time it happened, I felt trapped, held down by an invisible force. My eyes were open, but no matter how much I willed my limbs to move, they refused to obey.

But this night was different.

Tonight, I wasn't alone.

The tightness in my chest pressed harder, making it difficult to breathe, the darkness around me thick, suffocating. My eyes darted around the room—everything looked as it should have. The window was slightly ajar, curtains fluttering gently in the breeze, moonlight casting silver streaks on the walls. But then I saw him.

At the foot of my bed stood a figure.

Tall, unmoving, his form shadowed yet undeniably human. My heart pounded in my ears, but no matter how much I tried to scream, my voice stayed locked inside me. He was just... standing there, staring at me. I couldn't make out his features—his face was shrouded in the darkness—but I could see his eyes. They glowed, faint but unmistakable, a burning red that pierced through the shadows and locked onto me.

I'd heard of sleep paralysis hallucinations before—nightmarish figures born from a half-dreaming state, feeding off fear. But this... this felt different. His presence was too real, too solid. The longer I stared at him, the more certain I became that this was no hallucination.

I was truly being watched.

He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at me, as though he was waiting. For what, I didn't know. Time stretched on, each second heavier than the last. My skin prickled under his gaze, and though every nerve in my body screamed at me to wake up, to fight, I couldn't. All I could do was lie there, helpless and frozen, while he watched.

And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

I blinked, and the weight on my chest lifted. My body snapped free from its invisible restraints, and I bolted upright, gasping for air. Sweat clung to my skin, my heart racing as though I had run a marathon. The room was empty, the shadows still, but I could feel it—the lingering presence of something. Or someone.

I should have been terrified. But as I sat there, clutching my blanket to my chest, I wasn't.

I wasn't scared.

The next night, he came again.

This time, I knew what to expect. The familiar paralysis set in—the crushing weight, the frozen limbs, the desperate, silent struggle to break free. But tonight, I didn't panic. Instead, I waited. And as the seconds dragged on, he appeared.

Just like before, he stood at the foot of my bed, motionless, watching. His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, casting a soft, eerie light across the room. But this time, I wasn't overwhelmed by fear. Instead, there was something else—a strange curiosity, a pull toward him that I couldn't explain.

He didn't move. He never did. He simply stood there, his gaze locked onto mine, and I could feel the tension in the air between us growing heavier, thicker.