Page 51 of Monsters After Dark

Demon of her Dreams

Godiva Glenn

Farrah shivered on the windy balcony of her hotel room, scanning the sky for stars. High above the gaudy fluorescent signs and ambitious floodlights of the casinos, she made out a few twinkling constellations. A yawn broke over her as she wished on one of them.

She was exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced a decent night’s rest, yet she fought her body’s pull to go to bed. Sleep terrified her—or rather—the nightmare did. Each night, it grew darker and more desperate. And somehow, more real.

She pulled the knitted sleeves of her sweater over her hands, wrapping her chilled fingertips into the fabric. The cold had helped to keep her awake at first, but not so much now. She stepped back into the room and instantly warmed as she pulled the door shut behind her.

The hotel had been part of a desperate attempt to rid herself of the recurring nightmare, assuming that a vacation would free her of whatever stress was causing her turmoil. Three days in, it hadn’t made a difference. The spa, the hot tub, the view—it didn’t matter. The hotel held happy memories for her, but perhaps missing the source of that happiness only added fuel to the twisting chaos that found her the moment she slipped into the dream world. Everything here reminded her of Nathan, and when she’d booked the trip, that had seemed like a good idea. Now that she was here, it seemed like the worst idea possible.

She sat on the sofa and sank into the cushions, thinking of turning on a movie, something that would keep her up. She began to reach for the remote, but her hand didn’t move.

Farrah stared at the remote and the glass coffee table it sat on. They faded from view as if the entire room was stretching away, placing them out of her reach. She looked at her hand, and as she studied it, she realized the room had dimmed, the lights above her fading into shadow. She swallowed and stood, feeling a familiar tingling at the back of her neck and inhaling an ominous, stale scent. She’d fallen asleep, and the nightmare had found her as swiftly as ever.

Claws dug lightly at her arms. She didn’t have to see them to know they were black extensions of his fingers, though sometimes everything would flicker and they wouldn’t be claws, but normal fingertips, as if a man lurked within the demonic exterior.

A brief scrape—one not sharp enough to cut, but enough to send a shiver up her spine—made her heart thump in her ears. She jabbed one elbow back against his chest before the touch could turn into a hold and ran into the dark landscape of the nightmare.

She could barely see in front of herself. The nightmare realm was dark with sporadic flashes of orange and red, the light appearing in jagged streaks like lightning in a cloudy sky. In the distance were buildings, but they seemed to float away if she aimed for them. Instead she looked for smaller shadows along the ground, cast by the rubble of fallen structures.

Her foot caught on something and she stumbled. It couldn’t have been a root—she’d never seen a tree or anything else living in this place—but she didn’t look down or back to see what it may have been. She sucked in deep breaths of the hot, dusty air as she raced and searched for cover. The longer she could run, the shorter the nightmare would be. Once she’d gotten a fraction of rest in the outside world, she could break free.

A black swirl formed in front of her, blocking her vision. She turned from it, but it caught her. Hands pulled her back against a tall, muscular body, one she knew and feared. She struggled until the arms wrapped around her fully.

After nights of running and hiding, of seeing him only in brief glimpses, he’d finally caught her.

Moisture pressed to the side of her neck as he kissed her there and drew his tongue across her skin, tasting her. Farrah shivered, and a scream welled inside her, but didn’t escape. She could try to scream and yell, but nothing ever came out. Whenever he appeared, it wasn’t her dream anymore. She couldn’t control it.

Tonight.

The word made her cold. He didn’t speak, exactly; the hissing sound of his voice broadcasted directly into her brain. The nightmare never made sense, yet his single word held confidence. It was a promise, one she didn’t want him to succeed in keeping.

Submit.

That word was a constant. Every chase, every night, all came down to his insistence that she submit. She never would.

He buried his face into the black, curly mass of her hair and inhaled so deeply she could hear it. When he exhaled, it tickled her scalp. He caressed her sides with his long, black claws and kissed her neck again. Her body awakened for a moment, but she shut it down. She knew nothing good could come of giving in to a demon.

Perhaps most of the world would think dreams were just dreams, but Farrah knew better. There were dreams, and then there was this—something dark and complex, and infinitely worse than any bad dream could be. Somehow this nightmare could leech into her reality. She’d started waking up with bruises from where she’d fallen in her dream. That very morning, she’d found scratches over her legs and arms from the heap of rocks she’d spent the night hiding in. Who knew what would happen to her if she gave him what he wanted?

Meanwhile, his touch grew bolder. He inflicted feather-light caresses upon her breasts while he licked up her neck to nibble her ear. She stared forward, her eyes wide open. If she closed them, she knew her body would take it as a sign of welcoming this pleasure. If she stared into the darkness that flickered with shapes and shadows, she could try to think of other things. Things that had nothing to do with the demon holding her.

He squeezed her breast, the tips of his claws digging in through her shirt, not tearing fabric or breaking skin, but just enough to indent her flesh and make her wince.

Submit.

She didn’t bother with a reply. Over and over, she’d tried to communicate with the demon. He wouldn’t converse, only say the same words, one at a time, more furiously the longer the night stretched. There was no reasoning with a monster.

A low growl vibrated through him, filled with impatience.

Tonight.

Her teeth gritted at the arrogance in his tone. His voice echoed with frustrating confidence in her mind.

Yet she felt it too. Something was different about tonight. How she didn’t even recall falling asleep. How soon the darkness had come. How quickly he’d trapped her. She didn’t understand how he’d caught her. Usually they were locked in an endless chase, but tonight he seemed to have more power over her dream.

The landscape blurred and changed. The hotel room returned, encased in near pitch-black darkness. The demon pushed her into the center of the room. Farrah looked around in desperation for an escape, but even though this was a replica of her hotel room, the doors were missing. The furniture was decaying as if centuries had passed. Light glowed along seams in the illusion, highlighting the corners of the room, the area beneath the couch where it sat on the floor, and the fractures along the walls—just enough illumination to show the demon’s features as he stood before her.

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