Page 85 of The Fallen
SLEEPING WITH EYES OPEN
SIENNA SWAY
SLEEPING WITH EYES OPEN
There he was.
The dark, familiar figure of my nightly visitor stood by the window, blotting out the orange glow of the streetlights through my thin curtains in a bone-chilling silhouette.
If I could, I would have shouted, run away, and fought, but as it was, I could do nothing at all. Not even turn my head.
Sleep paralysis was such a bitch.
I shut my eyes. A stupid move. The only power I had was my limited vision in the mostly dark of night and closing my eyes had never made him go away yet.
Sure enough, when I caved and opened my eyes, he was standing just at the side of my bed, his hooded face turned down to look at me. I would have jumped in shock if my body was capable of moving, but it wasn't. My chest rose and fell harder and faster and my blood pounded so loudly that I was sure the guy—or whatever he was—could hear it.
He isn't here, I told myself.He isn't a guy, or a ghost or a demon. He's in my head. a figure I made up because I like to shit the bed almost every night.
I could feel myself trembling.
Maybe I should be used to this by now, but it turned out that no number of sleep paralysis experiences made this feel natural, or normal. Especially since once upon a time, it had been different every time. Sometimes I saw people, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes the pictures on the walls looked like they were moving.
Until recently, I'd known that I could just shut my eyes and wait for it to be over. Wait for morning, for the bleaching effect of sunlight on the dark recesses of the brain to make everything alright again.
But now...now...
I looked up at the shadowed face above me and waited.
It was happening more and more often now, and every time, it was alwayshim.I didn't need to know his face or hear his voice or see anything other than the shape of his shoulders under the robe he wore. This motherfucker--figment of my imagination or not--was haunting me. He was making me hallucinate. He wasgiving me sleep paralysis.
I knew that was crazy. I knew if my therapist heard this, she would probably give me that 'oh no' look she sometimes did when I told her some unhinged thought I'd been having. But, in the dead of night, it just felt so true that I couldn't deny it.
He was doing this to me. He wanted these moments. He wanted me to see him. To look at him. I didn't know why, but he did.
And I gave him what he wanted, because despite the heart-clenching fear and the sweat trickling down my neck, I couldn't ever bring myself to look away. Instead, I stared into the dark void where his face was shrouded in the shadows of his hood, and I wondered what was in there. Was it a skull? A disfigured blob? Something too terrifying to imagine?
I stared into his darkness now, meeting his unwavering attention. Waiting. Again. for something to happen that never would.
Then for the first time, he moved while I was watching.
It wasn't much. All he did was lift his arm and reach out a little bit toward me. He may as well have jumped on the bed and shaken it with how much it shocked me.
I felt the brush of air from his movement. That was the weirdest part. It was a slight, cool tickle against my wrist, like his robe had nearly come close enough to touch me. Maybe he was reaching for my hand.
Why the hell would a ghost be trying to hold my hand?!
I was really losing it. Probably going from normal sleep paralysis straight into Psychosis.
I had to call my doctor in the morning.Feelingsomething that isn't there must cross some sort of line.
Swallowing, I forced my eyes shut.
This was what I had always been told to do. Just don't look. Don't engage. Try to sleep. Wait until morning.
Then the cool tickle of air brushed my skin again, followed by something else. Something more physical.
Fabric. Then skin.
