It was one of those nights.
The nights where you lay down, go to sleep, then wake up.
And cannot move.
This has been happening frequently, and I can't explain why.
I suppose it's because I'm stressed...
Every time I wake up my eyes move slowly around, and lands on the right corner of my room. There's an old arm chair that stays in that spot. Never moves.
But he does.
He used to just sit there and look at me.
But now he walks.
He's tall, and lanky.
His head moves, looking around my room for something.
His long fingers gently run over the trinkets, bottles, and perfumes on my dresser.
He stops at the foot of my bed.
And looks at me.
I'm terrified.
He's human, but disproportionately so.
His eyes are burning into my soul.
His iris and pupils are so small. The whites of his eyes are swallowing them.
He wants my soul.
He begins to place his hands on ends of my mattress and crawl towards me.
Am I going to die?
He crawls toward me like a black panther stalking it's prey.
Smiling.
He is now face to face with me.
Hanging over me like a sickly willow tree.
I'm going to die.
My mouth opens up, tears run down my face.
"Please..."
He lowers his eyelids just a bit as he takes is thumb and wipes my right eye.
"One of those nights?"
"Yes..."
He let's out a twisted chuckle and pats my face gently.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Liar.
Even though I can't move, I'm trembling.
He likes seeing me in fear.
"Can you move?"
"No"
He slowly slides off the bed and stands next to it.
"Do you think I'm real?"
"No."
"Think your mind is playing tricks on you?"
"Yes"
"I don't think it is"
He offers his long slender hand out to me.
"Take it."
I slowly begin to move my muscles to take his hand.
It's cold.
He holds my hand and smiles, gently this time.
"Get out of bed"
I slowly move my legs until they are dangling off the side of my bed.
I place my feet on the carpet.
I'm standing up now.
"Think I'm real now?"
"I don't know."
"But you do know... You can feel my hand, no?"
"Yes."
"Then I must be real."
I stare at him with an intimidated look in my eyes
I don't want to die.
"Do you like dancing?"
"I'm not very good at it."
"I'll teach you."
He hits the play button on my stereo and it starts to play a song.
The song is pretty, like a pleasant dream.
He takes my other hand and begins to step to the beat.
I join him.
He smiles and looks at my feet.
"I thought you said you can't dance?"
I begin to smile a little.
We dance around my room.
I like this.
I let my guard down.
I let him in.
Just as the song ends he spins me toward my body mirror.
I notice his face was like before.
Malicious with his iris and pupils shrunken, and a murderous grin on his face.
He pushes me.
I fall through the mirror onto the other side.
And land in bed.
It's morning.
