Tales of Horror

Things We See in the Dark

Every night, sleep paralysis tricks my eyes into seeing the creature that lurks in the corner of my room. I watch as he slithers and creeps closer until he hovers over my body, sniffing my face, long, crooked finger fluttering over my frozen body. Every night, I was powerless to do anything except lie there. Over time, I learned to control my heart rate, to remind myself it isn't real. Now, that plays like a mantra in my head, over and over: it isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real.

Eventually, it slinks away, disappearing into the shadows, and the fear releases me; my arms and hands become my own again, my legs regain the feeling of life. The sun comes up, chasing away any lingering shadows, and despite knowing I had slept, it felt like it had been several days since I had any real sleep.

I rolled out of bed, shoved a hand through my hair, and paused to look in the mirror. My five o'clock shadow was turning into a full blown 10 am beard. Marcel would kill me if I showed up to work at the restaurant like this, but I really could not find the energy to do anything about it.

I poured a cup of cold coffee, fresh brewed yesterday morning, and shoved it in the microwave. I caught a darkened version of my reflection in the door of the microwave; it really accentuated the bags under my eyes. I sighed and leaned against the counter, letting out a massive yawn.

I'd been living in that apartment for a few months now, but aside from the coffee machine and the sink full of dishes, one could hardly tell. Boxes were still stacked in the corners and on the small table, the walls were still bare, with only the shadows of pictures on them.

The microwave beeped, startling me, and I shook my head as I carefully grabbed the mug out of the microwave. I took a sip, set it on the counter, and went back to my bedroom to change for work. It looked so different, in the day light. So innocuous, certainly not the oubliette it appeared to be in the darkness. As I dressed, I caught myself repeating it again in my head: it isn't real, it isn't real.

The rest of the morning is spent in auto pilot; get to the bus stop, watch the old lady in the seat across from me knit a blue scarf, listen to Marcel chew me out for not shaving, so on and so forth. When I clock out a little after nine, I walk to the bar down the street and sit down on the stool at the very end, and a moment later the bar tender slides me a beer without having to ask.

Some would probably call me an alcoholic, but I wasn't drinking for pleasure or fun or even because I felt the need to. I was just hoping that I could get drunk enough to pass out cold when I got home. It hadn't worked so far, but I believe in perseverance. Try, try again, you know?

I was about to hold my finger up for another when two appeared in front of me. A delicate hand with blue nail polish pushed one closer to me before wrapping around the other. I looked up to a see a girl with wide, dark brown eyes. She smiled at me and took a sip off of her beer.

"Hi." she said.

"Hi." I responded, swallowing the nerves that gathered in my throat. She smiled again, like she knew something I didn't.

"I saw you here a couple nights ago. And last week. Are you a drunk?"

I thought about pointing out that I could ask her the same, but instead I shook my head and cleared my throat.

"No, I'm just trying to get some sleep." I said. She turned the corners of her mouth down and nodded, then clinked her bottle to mine.

"Cheers to that." she said. I found myself smiling, and took a swig off my beer. This was a blip in my routine, not something that I had planned on. Most girls avoided me, probably because I looked like a strung out crack head with a drinking problem, too broken looking for them to try to fix.

Her name was Amy, and she lived a couple blocks away. She didn't really like to drink, but she liked the noise and the atmosphere of the bar. She liked the people. She was easy to talk to; usually people found my sense of humor uncomfortable, but she seemed to mirror it, and for a while, I forgot about how tired I was, or how badly I didn't want to go to bed.

In fact, the idea of going to bed suddenly didn't seem so bad. It seemed like maybe, Amy was thinking the same thing. It seemed like an unspoken agreement; I threw some cash down on the bar and called a cab. Amy laughed at something I said as we made our way out the door, and she smiled sweetly at me when I opened the door to the cab for her. She didn't say anything when I told the driver my address, just poked fun at how my part of town was the "trashy" part of town.

"Well, you don't have to go." I pointed out with a smile.

"Maybe I'm a trashy kind of girl." she said, and winked at me.

She laughed, when we entered my apartment.

"Classic bachelor pad." she said, shaking her head. "Well, at least I know that I'm not the other woman." I laughed, and offered her a beer from my fridge, but she shook her head. I shrugged.

"You're loss." I said, chugging half of it before she took the bottle from my hands and pressed her lips to mine instead. I lead her to the bedroom, and for the first time in a long time, didn't feel a shiver up my spine, didn't get the usual feeling of dread. All I felt was the sensation of soft, bare skin against my chest, the feel of hands in unfamiliar places. My bed was a mess, but once lost in a tangle of limbs and breathy sighs, I didn't really care.

Afterward, the room was spinning, and my eyes were begging to close. I felt her head nestle into the hollow of my collarbone, and the last thing I felt was her hair tickling my chin.

But it didn't stop the shadows from moving later that night. It was later than usual; the alcohol helped stave it off. I thought Amy might still be awake, unable to sleep in an unfamiliar place, I thought. She was still in the darkness beside me, but I could feel the heat from her body. I hoped she wouldn't notice the sudden change in my state of conscious, hoped she wouldn't notice the hitch in my breathing.

I watched as the creature slouched from the shadow, it's spine curved unnaturally, the same low, clicking sound emanating from its chest as it hunched around the room. It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't-

"What the hell is that?" Amy whispered.