Page 15 of The Nightmare's Kiss

It taps a claw against the glass, almost like it’s asking for something, but I’m not sure what. But it does remind me uncomfortably of my dream, and I have to swallow back a burst of fear and suppress the urge to step away. I’m not going to punish a real, possibly intelligent being because of a bad dream.

“I want to run a few baseline tests today,” I say. The Nightmare tilts its head but doesn’t otherwise respond, so I carry on. “First, some basic questions…”

I’m hesitant to write any of this down before I’m ready to talk to my superiors, so I have to go from memory and trust my own observations. It’s possible they’re watching me over the security camera anyway, but I haven’t been confronted about it yet, so either they haven’t noticed, or they don’t care. Either way, I doubt the camera can pick up my quiet words, so they’ll probably see no more than me standing at the observation window.

The subject doesn’t speak. It only nods or shakes its head yes or no, but still, its answers seem logical and clear.

Do you understand what I’m saying?A nod.

Are you comfortable being questioned by me?Another nod.

Do you understand that I am human?Once again, a yes.

Do you consideryourselfhuman?A side-to-side shake.

Are you aware that you are trapped here?Nod.

Are you happy here?Another vehementno.

Can you speak?It hesitates, uncertain, like it isn’t sure how to answer.

I’m about to ask more but am cut off at the sound of the slot on the door opening again. I whirl guiltily to see another envelope plop on the floor.

I’ve never received two envelopes in one day before. Do they know I finished early? Are they watching me more closely than I suspected?

I open the envelope, fearing some kind of reproach within, but instead, it’s just another set of instructions. For a moment, I feel a twinge of suspicion. Did they notice what I’m doing after all? Are they trying to prevent me from doing my own tests to check the intelligence of the subject? No, I decide. Surely they would’ve confronted me directly if they did. They must just assume I’ve gotten used to my routine and can handle more tasks. If anything, I take this as further confirmation that they’renotkeeping a close eye on me.

I return to my desk with the new set of instructions. The Nightmare is still standing on the other side in human form, like it’s waiting for me to talk to it again. “Sorry,” I say, realizing the intercom is still activated. “Back to our regularly scheduled programming, I’m afraid.” I shut off the intercoms and then turn the privacy screen back on to hide me from the subject.

The subject slams a fist against the glass. I jump and then sigh under my breath as it does it again, and then starts pacing with irritation. It’s like a dog upset that a training session is over. Or a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Or a conscious being reasonably angry that it’s been cut off from its only form of meaningful communication, a small voice in the back of my head whispers. But I tell it to quiet down. I still don’t know enough to make assumptions…and, more importantly, I have a job to do.

“I did say sorry,” I mutter as I reach to hit the button forSound 1.

Still, I can’t fight off a wave of guilt as I start going through the mind-numbingly boring stimulus tests again, while the subject sulks and refuses to respond on the other side.

The Nightmare appears again when I fall asleep. This time, it is angry.

I know, with the small portion of rationality that I cling to in my dreams, that this must be a manifestation of my guilt over work today. This Nightmare in my brain is just a cobbled-together version of the angry responses I’ve seen from its real version. And this is just a dream.

But that doesn’t stop me from being fucking terrified as it looms up over my bed.

It draws itself up taller—and taller, and taller, bones cracking and limbs bending at strange angles, until its head scrapes the ceiling and its limbs and body are stretched long and thin and disjointed. The proportions are all wrong, but its face is the worst. Features are starting to form instead of its usual blank mask, but they are all wrong, its eyes too big and its mouth too wide. Its smile stretches like its body did. Its lips pull back to reveal a snarl of too many teeth, spread from ear to ear, covering half of its face. A long, long tongue slips out between the rows of fangs and licks at the air like it’s tasting my fear.

“Just a dream,” I whisper to myself. “Just a dream, just a dream…” But my voice goes higher and squeakier with each repetition, and when the ghoulish form lunges towards me again, I scream and fling myself out of bed.

I hit the floor hard. The pain jolts me, and for a moment I think I must have woken up—but the Nightmare is still here, grinning that ghoulish grin from the other side of the bed, so I must still be dreaming. I scramble to my feet and sprint for the door. Outside is the hallway of my parents’ house, just like in real life. As I run, it becomes longer and longer, the floorboards moving like an escalator under my feet. Behind me, the Nightmare floats across the floor, a dark cloud of tendrils and claws reaching for me. I swear and stumble onward, pushing myself until I finally reach a door, but when I open it and fling myself through, I’m back in my bedroom.

“No, no,” I sob. I turn to run again, but one clawed hand is already gripping the doorway from the other side. It bends to look through the door, neck snapping to the side with a hideous crack, horrible grin leering in at me. It grabs the sides of the doorway, claws scraping against wood, and starts to pull itself through.

Struck with a childish desperation, I fling myself to the floor and crawl toward the bed. Maybe I can hide beneath it. Maybe it’s too big to fit there—

Then I reach the edge of my bed, one hand extended underneath. Too late, I realize the darkness beneath the mattress is too deep, too solid. Too late, I see a gleam of eyes.

The Nightmare is already waiting for me under the bed, and before I can recoil, claws close around my wrist and drag me underneath, into the darkness with it. I writhe, trying to free myself, but it’s all around me now. A warm, living shadow that envelops me, trapping me, tearing at my pajamas and creeping across my skin, flooding my senses with a smoky scent. Dark laughter echoes in my ears, and all over my body I feel gripping fingers, slithering tentacles, spider legs and teeth and a slavering tongue—

I scream, hoping I’ll wake myself, but a hand clasps over my mouth and stops me.

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