I lie still,
paralysed. I try to lift my arm to reach for my phone but it’s impossible, it’s
as if it’s weighed down by a supernatural force. I can hear my family
downstairs, the sound of pots and pans, the dog barking; the usual Saturday
morning sounds. I try to call out to get someone’s attention, but to no avail.
I can’t scream, I can’t talk, damn; I can’t even muster a whisper. What the hell is going on? Breathing is
becoming a problem, it’s like a cork has been placed in my airways.
I might be paralysed
but my senses are still intact, and something is telling me that I am not
alone. A bead of sweat drips down my forehead, I want to wipe it away, to get
up and scream for help; but it’s useless.
‘I need a wee,’ my son shouts.
‘Okay, okay,’ say’s my husband. ‘But
be quiet because mummy is still asleep.’ But I don’t want him to be quiet; I
want him to come running into the bedroom, I want him to jump up and down on me
and I need my husband to follow him in. I hear a creak in the corner of the
room, I can’t turn to look but I see a shadow moving towards me. I hear my son
and husband racing each other up the stairs, ‘I’m going to beat you,’ my
husband teases. They laugh, they sound happy. I’m desperate to be out there
with them, having fun together like we were before we went to bed. I was fine
then, just ten hours previously; I could move, I was healthy, active. What
could have happened in that short space of time?
They’re at
the top of the stairs now. I can hear my son making his way to the bathroom and
my husband pops his head around our bedroom door. The shadow is getting closer
but now I don’t know if it’s my husband’s or something else. I’m confused, I
try to move, to shout, to give my husband some indication that I’m awake; but
it’s hopeless, he can’t see that my eyes are open. He must have assumed that
I’m still asleep as he closes the door and walks away. I want to run out after
him but by now they are both making their way back down the stairs, leaving me
alone with this shadow. My muscles are trembling; tears start to prick at the
back of my eyes. My skin feels hot and sweaty; I wish I could breathe.
I’m trapped,
in this room, in this bed, inside my own mind and there’s nowhere to escape. The
shadow rushes towards me and covers me like an incoming tide. It rests heavily
on my chest. I try to inhale deeply but I can only manage fast shallow breaths.
Is this what it’s like to drown?
Inside my head I’m thrashing around, screaming, trying anything to get
someone’s attention. This is a nightmare; I’ll wake up in a minute and be free
of this incubus. But I’m not waking up, this is happening, this is real.
The shadow
stretches and morphs; long misty fingers pour out of chimney smoke hands and wrap
themselves around my neck. I let out a feeble attempt at a cough as my struggle
for breath increases. My face feels wet from the tears escaping my eyes. I have
to do something, try anything. Only I can release me from this nightmare. My
mind struggles for a solution as the fingers pull tighter and tighter. Then
something in the back of mind shouts at me to move.
I focus on a
single tiny part of my body and repeat over and over to my little finger to
move. Move, move, move! Nothing
happens for a moment, but failure is not an option. MOVE! To my relief my little finger wriggles and sends a message to
the rest of my fingers to do the same. It’s working, the rest of my body
follows suit and suddenly I can move. The shadow lifts and floats away like a
feather in a breeze. I gasp and inhale deeply.
The air tastes cool and fresh like a frosty December morning, blowing away the darkness.
The carpet
feels soft as it caresses my feet. The morning sun warms the room and I can hear
my son and my husband playing downstairs. All the comforts of home surround me,
yet I can’t shake the feeling of being stalked. It was some kind of a nightmare, I tell myself. But the split in
the curtains creates a path of sunlight shining directly on the open bedroom
door that I was so sure my husband had closed.
