A Demonic Dance

Chapter Three: Something Else

George shot up with a gasp, the cold air hitting him like an avalanche as his shirt stuck to his sweaty body like a cocoon, only making him shiver in the cold even more.

What was that.

He took in another shakey breath, realising he wasn't in his room. It had all felt so real, the breeze in his face, the wind the rain.

They'd felt so real. The words from their mouth felt like the truth, just like the tears that seemed to be rolling down his cheeks, something he thought was just in the dream but really was real, something he thought was in the nightmare.

Shaking once more George wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling colder than before. In the nightmare, whatever it was, there was something he couldn't understand at the end. Normally it would drag on till he wanted to scream, curl up and die. But this time he hadn't. He knew he should be thankful for this, for the arms that wrapped around him and the masked figure they belonged too, tha pulled him out.

But as he sat in the cold room, staring at the open window to his left, it was the only thing he could think about.

The male sighed, scrunching his eyes closed and rubbing them vigorously. He shouldn't be looking into the nightmares, they caused him so much grief already and he should just be happy it had ended dinner than later. But he knew he'd seen a face, and with everything in  his dreams being from his own memories. This was something he could not put a finger on.

There had been something else there. Something not put there by his mind.

That thing had pulled him into its embrace, and unlike usual when something was in his dream he hadn't felt scared. He'd leaned in, welcomed out, and in that moment, the terrors of the nightmares had disappeared.

And maybe they could disappear again.

After a few minutes of absentee staring George slid his hands down his face in exasperation, looking at the clock to realise it was around 3am and he was in no mood to go to sleep.

George was still deciding what to do when something moved by his foot, nearly making him jump off the sofa.

Taking a quick glance down George noticed it was a hand that had brushed against his foot, it wasn't till he took a second glance down that his hairs stood on end and his blood ran cold, because the thing next to him. It wasn't a thing at all, and it most certainly wasn't human.

Holding his breath George stared frozen, half wondering if he was stuck in another dream, from one nightmare to another in a torturous cycle.

But there was something different about this to his nightmares. Something that told him that this was in fact real. And he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

The thing looked asleep. It lay in a sort of crouched position on the floor, it's head nestled in its arms which unlike its body were rested on the sofa, around where Georges must have been when he was asleep.

It's hands were slender and masculine with claw like nails that from which in the dark George could estimate they were all each a fair few centimetres long.

On its back it wore what was most probably a long red or green trench coat (George couldn't tell with the poor lighting) which was plainly decorated.