It's a dark, dark world

Silhouette

You were dreaming. You knew you were because there is no way you would be able to parkour your way through a city like that in real life, running and jumping for that long and that high would require a body in the peak of human condition, and perhaps bending the laws of physics.

It was a nice dream; even though it had started as you running away from someone. A special being. Was it maybe a vampire? It certainly had that feel to him, and it wouldn't be the weirdest thing your brain had ever conjured in dreams.

You turn your head to the right, while jumping through a window in a twentieth floor, across a street and onto the steel frame of a half constructed building.

He's there, on your right, keeping pace a couple of buildings away, and instead of fear, an exhilarating feeling bursts in your chest, and you feel your cheeks stretching, straining to contain the wild grin that comes and refuses to leave.

He's still something of a shadow, just a silhouette against the dawning light of a late afternoon that's rapidly turning into a warm spring evening.

Laugh escapes past your lips, and you two keep the chase, well past what looks like downtown in whatever random city they are, and into a sector full of steel frames, half installed insulation in walls, and concrete.

He catches up to you eventually, in one of those buildings.

It's night already, come early in that weird illogical way dreams have of changing things on you without you realizing.

He half tackles you the moment you stop, rushing into you from your left even though he had kept to your right during the chase.

Laughter seems to fill the floor for a moment, both of you excited, delighted and exhausted at the same time.

"Darling, it's been ages" he says, as if you two know each other.

What's his name? Does he have one, this creation of your brain?

"I didn't know you were back! Were you planning on giving me a call like a normal person, Adam?" comes out of your mouth, unbidden.

Adam? Where did that name come from? the part of your brain that knows this is a dream asks.

"Maybe" He grins, letting you go.

Laugh comes again easily for you both.

"Something is coming" He says then, serious all at once, you look at his vibrant eyes, his pale face, that looks so clear and defined but you know you won't remember its details later, when you wake. "And you need to be there for it" he finishes.

You blink, and suddenly you are back in your room, lying on your back, with your arms on your sides and your head turned to the left.

Huffing -because that dream had been going pretty well, why are you even awake? -, you try to move to your side, intent on going back to sleep, hopefully back to that dream, it's not unheard off to go back to half-finished dreams, you have been there and done that before.

Only... you can't move.

Breathing is not a problem, blinking either, but you can't even move your pinky finger.

Tears well into your eyes as distress begins to fill you.

What is this? Is this a nightmare? You think desperately, wildly looking around as much as you can with your limited field of vision, but you are in your room, even darkened as it is you can recognize it. Your metal and glass bedside table is right there, centimeters away, your charging phone right on top. The small, plush sofa a few ways away, and then the long heavy curtains half opened against the glass and wood doors that lead to the balcony, now with the wooden shutters closed, barely letting in light, and past that...

A scream lodges in your throat, and the tears filling your eyes make it so difficult to see for a moment that you just hope it was a horrible illusion, a play of shadows and the tenuous light coming from the street.

But you blink your years away, and strain your eyes to focus on that point at the edge of your vision, unable as you are to move to take in more of the room.

The shadow is still there, the silhouette of what looks like a tall man.

It's standing against the glass, unmoving and focused on you, and you strain towards the bed, trying to sink into it, past it, to move away, but you can't.

Your breathing comes in and out with harsh, shuddering motions of your chest.

The man leans forward as you try in vain to pull back.

You blink back more tears, and when you refocus your gaze again on that spot, the shadow isn't there anymore.

A relieved gust of air leaves your lungs almost without conscious input from you as your eyes move from the spot almost past the double glass doors and go back the other way.

The relief is so stark, so completely opposite to that sudden terror that had gripped you, that for a moment you don't care about momentarily not being able to move, because it has to be temporary, there is no way... nothing happened that would prevent you from moving, not that you remember.

Your eyes are back on the curtains and moving to the couch when they catch onto something much closer than that.

The relief, as fast as it had come, leaves you, and you recoil so strongly that it's amazing you are still unmovable in the same spot of the bed, not even an inch on either direction.

Your heart hammers against your chest, and you don't have time to consider if this is what a heart attack feels like, because Jesus Christ that dark thing, that man now kneeling next to the bed not forty centimeters away from you is leaning forwards, is leaning towards you, and you can feel it, the darkness, the heavy, oppressive feeling against your chest.

There is no doubt in your mind that he... it is evil. There is something about his darkness, the way its body feels like a void of sorts at the same time it feels like its presence is filling the entire room.

You want to scream, want to move away, are fairly sure if you could talk you would be begging it to leave you alone, please, please, please.

Another blink and suddenly the shadow's outline is leaner, smaller, and you are a bit confused because it was a grown man kneeling, just a few seconds ago, and now it's a young kid, maybe a five-year-old, standing up besides your bed, getting closer and closer.

The darkness, the dreadful feeling coming out of this smaller figure is much more intense than the one coming out of the bigger one ever was.

It's coming closer, his little hand stretched and so, so close to your face.

You are breathing harshly through your nose now, trying to concentrate to move at least your little finger.

You are not sure why you start with your right little finger, but you figure you ought to start somewhere.

Your eyes go from his face to his rapidly approaching hand, and back again.

The heavy feeling grows against your chest, so much you wouldn't be surprised, if you managed to turn your head, to see another silhouette like the one in front of you, standing on your chest, maybe digging his poisonous little fingers into your chest.

The thing grins, sudden, like a tiger snarling through clenched teeth before jumping on its prey, a gnarl on his face that looks crude, almost vulgar on his young face.

The sound of your heart is pounding in your ears so loudly you are sure it would drown even the sound of your screams, if you were able to produce such sounds, were they not getting stuck in your throat, unable to make it out even as whimpers.

Your little finger moves, inches away from the threat like the rest of your body wishes it could do, and it's like a weight has been lifted from your chest.

Then, suddenly, between a blink and the next, you can breathe in deeply unhindered and you can move.

You sit so quickly your head spins a bit, but you ignore it as you roll out of bed on the right side, the opposite side to that thing, and run, rush to the door, slamming against it and slapping your hands against the light switch.

By the time you turn, however, you are alone in the bedroom.