The Intrusion

Eighteen

[?]

I bolt up in bed and scream. My voice comes out shrill and loud as my throat and diaphragm burn. But, when I hear myself scream, it only makes me scream louder.

This isn't how I sound when I scream.

This isn't my voice! This isn't what I sound like!

In terror, I untangle myself from the sheets as my eyes frantically dart around the room.

It's dark. Only a hint of a glow comes through the window—endlessly burning embers of the city at night. The smoldering remnants of the day are faint enough for me to realize something impossible: I'm not in my room anymore.

I silence another scream that tries to escape my burning and sore throat.

Where am I?

I reach to my face, trying to cover my mouth to prevent me from screaming or crying, but when I touch my mouth I shrink away in horror.

This isn't my face. It doesn't feel like my face! It's like I'm wearing a mask. Some mask made of crawling, creeping, crunching and contorting flesh.

I pull my hands away from (my?) face.

I touch my body. I run my hands over my legs and arms.

It isn't my body either.

I leap out of bed, my mouth agape. When I try to scream, nothing comes out. I kick at the air as though somehow swinging these limbs around might shake me out of this nightmare. My hands rush over me in a fit, like I am trying to brush ten-thousand spiders and cockroaches off of me. Biting and crawling and squirming like a raging, boiling pot of insects creeping over my entire body. Their bodies and teeth burrow inside of this skin, through the flesh and into the bone until they reach something much deeper than that—something I think is maybe so deep it must be my soul.

What is going on? What the fuck is going on? What happened? How did this happen!

I rush out of the bedroom and across the narrow hall that—even though I know I have never been here before—seems so familiar it makes me want to vomit. Entering the bathroom, I flip the light on. My eyes automatically snap shut in brilliant pain.

I blink as my pupils dilate, and then I look at my face in the mirror. I realize what I knew all along but was denying this whole time: It isn't my face!

It's Jordan's face.

This is Jordan's body. This is Jordan's apartment. Jordan's bedroom. Jordan's bathroom. Jordan's mirror.

Everything.

I turn the faucet on and splash water over my face. Maybe I can wash this away. If I splash enough water on myself, if I blink enough times, this illusion will end. I'll wake up, and this will all go back to normal. I'll be me again.

This is a dream. This is a dream. This has to be a dream!

I need to go back to sleep. I'll wake up and be me again.

Go back to sleep.

I make myself walk from the bathroom back to Jordan's room and lie down in her bed. Slowly, my restless mind wears itself out spinning in circles. It dizzies, and finally, I fall into a deep, deep, much needed, silent sleep.