In the arms of sleep

It happened again last night. Just like before. It began slowly, with little things. Then it got worse. Much worse. I suppose this is your way of punishing me. If it is, it's working. If it's not when I'm awake, it's when I'm asleep. Mad isn't it? That's what most people think anyway. Sometimes I think I'm going mad. Am I? No. I can't be. It's so real. I can feel it. It is more than a nightmare. Trapped. Trapped under the hideous black carpet that chokes the sky. Darkness complete. Shadows begin to move, writhing, with an eerie shrill sound of the sucking of the air. Unmoving, I watch. Without breathing. Without thinking. The wind pounds against my face like a thundering waterfall. My breath illuminates the sky in a vivid cloud of white smoke. A trail of ivy cradles gravestones like newborn babies. An ominous feeling of dread seeps through my bones. I am in a churchyard. This is no ordinary churchyard. This is where it happened. He was standing over there. I remember now. Right next to that cross. I shouldn't have done it should I? But I had no choice. There was no way out at the time. I can feel him now. Watching me like a hawk. His hot breath creeping up my neck. Hark! What was that? Did you hear it? There it is again. I turn my head slowly to locate the sound. It's coming from the church. The sound is distant and musical – almost menacing. The organ! It plays on like an instrument of torture. I hold my breath. It stops. One . . . two . . . three. There it is again. Calling me. Calling me so softly at first; so softly it could be the blood rushing to my ears. I can hear the words. Katherine . . . Katherine. Come and find me. You know you want to. I'm walking. Walking. My feet have a mind of their own. Uncontrollable. Eyes glued in front of me. I feel like a ventriloquist's dummy. The church door lies in front of me, like the gateway to hell. My hand trembles violently as I push the heavy iron handle forward. Then the door slams behind me with a metallic slice, like a falling guillotine. Silence. Nothing can be heard except the soft pit-pat of rain. The stillness is worse than noise. I know he's in here. I can feel his eyes – watching me. Stalking me. I can smell him. The smell of decay and dried blood wafts up my nose like rotten eggs. I feel sick. A thin hot trail of sweat runs down my temple. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now! But where is the door? It was behind me. That noise. There it is again. That faint tune. Sheer black terror is sweeping though me, every hair on my body erected. It is dark. So dark. Too dark. My entire body goes cold with terror. Something is watching me. Something is hunched over the organ. Something is there. No. It can't be. Can it? Just one yard away from me. On my feet, skin crawling and body washed with adrenaline. He plays on. Back turned, but I know he is aware of my presence. My neck prickles as I edge away. The music stops. I walk backwards. Away. Going nowhere. My eyes afraid too – open painfully wide, then narrow – struggling to focus. My eyes close in the terrifying reality of it, lips mouthing frantic prayers, teeth clenched. I dare not look upon his face. I can smell his breath; making me feel nauseated. Heart banging like a drum. I can't stand much more of this. I've got to get out of here. I must open my eyes. I must go. He breathes hard, and a raging movement disturbs his limbs. His yellow skin has sunk into his body, showing the crevices of his bones. His hair, of a lustrous black, reminds me of a beetle. These features only form a more revolting contrast of his eyes. They glow in their own light, like fire fox. They are cold, ravenous. So different. Every shred of decency, kindness, forgiveness and passion, is gone. Replaced by the unmistakable look of a predator. His jaw opens, saliva dripping down his chin. He breaks into a fiendish grin. He cackles loudly, echoing across the hollow room. Stop! Make him stop. Make it go away. Make him disappear. I never could've imagined . . .never dreamed of such a foul creature. The devil of devils. I've never looked him directly in the face before. His gaze is hypnotic, mesmerizing. He lifts his arm up, his long knifelike fingers pointing towards the ceiling – clenches his fists, so tight – a trail of blood slowly trickles down, like a falling raindrop. He thrusts his arm down in anger; causing a sickening crack as it hits the organ. I shudder violently. He wants to punish me. He's going to do it properly. Whimpering, I move away. I can't watch this wretch lead me to my merciless death. I'd rather die with my dignity left alone. A scorched, rotting smell fills my lungs. I can't breathe. Gagged. I am going to die. No! I will run. I will save myself. I can't. He is too strong. He throws back his demon head, and lets out a howl of laughter. I look away. Trying not to look upon his face. I can feel fear ripping; opening my chest. Can he not see that I have suffered enough? Can he not see I am sorry? I can feel a surge of dizziness rush through me as my eyes rush in and out of focus. I stand still, very straight, as if paralysed. He rests his cold, lifeless hands on my cheek. My heart contracts with sorrow and pain. My knees buckle. I grab the organ to stop me from falling. This is not happening, I'm thinking. Why? Why are you doing this? Have you no heart? No soul? You did . . . once. But now it is long gone. Buried forever. Now leaning over, to kiss me goodbye – lips purple and cracked, flesh peeling off his face like the petals of a rose. His eyes glittering. A gust of wind whips my hair, stinging some feeling back into my cheeks – some coherence back into my brain. He puts his hands round my neck. Gasping for breath. I feel like a stuffed animal. Like a balloon about to pop. He is angry. He is not going to let go. Please . . .God no! I wake up. Neck throbbing with pain. Sucking in every ounce of air. Relieved. The wind wails as it bangs against the cold glass window. A faint knocking on the door, a gentle rattle of the knob. My door creaks. I stare into oblivion as my life flashes before me. I can feel him. Watching me. Trapped.