The Night Nasties
© copyright Kathy Pippig
It is late, or early; depending on how you look at it.
You are lying on your bed...perhaps staring at a pattern on the ceiling; glowing red from the light cast by the face of your digital clock. And maybe you have the TV on, the volume low...a semblance of company...a feigned human presence. Or the radio, instead.
You lie quietly, and you begin to feel that white-hot pulse...it feels like it burns brightest in your head and neck; a separate entity from the organ, that is your heart. Then finally, the heart kicks in...a counter-beat to the pulse; pounding against the bone of your ribcage. Your breath, to your ears, sounds as if it is rushing through a tunnel. Your still body tenses.
And then they arrive...the "Night Nasties," the demons that rob you of sleep and sanity. Just one, at first. It scampers onto the stage behind your forehead; speaks its few lines, then scurries offstage. And another hurries to take its place. They might even approach in groups of two, or three...quickly utter their disturbing words and depart. But there, in the background, they congregate...and they are rehearsing their lines...for the next act. And their garbagy spewings, like nimble fingers, abrade and gouge in the darkness backstage. You can't hear what they are saying, but you feel them; flaying strips of your reasoning away. And they just keep coming.... Auditioning for a part--in the lunacy.
After a while, you are unable to concentrate. You cannot hear the "Night Nasty." You are aware, only, that it is gesticulating wildly; trying to get your attention. It is just as well, this one has taken a turn on the stage inside your skull already. You can finally sleep.
You slip under the gray cover of slumber...and...then...the nightmares begin.
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