The weight on her chest was suffocating, an invisible force pinning her to the bed. Mila’s eyes darted wildly, unable to move anything else. In the shadowy corners of her bedroom, a figure stirred. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it during these episodes, but tonight was different. The shadow seemed more solid, its edges crisper against the darkness. As Mila struggled to breathe, she watched in horror as it took a step towards her bed.
Mila had moved into the Victorian townhouse a month ago, drawn to its ornate moldings and creaky floorboards. At first, the house’s eccentricities had charmed her – the way the pipes sang at night, the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the hallway. But as weeks passed, an undercurrent of unease had settled over her. She’d wake with a start, certain she’d heard footsteps outside her door. The lavender smell grew cloying, sickly sweet. And then the paralysis began.
Each night, it grew worse. The crushing weight, the inability to move, and always, that shadowy figure watching from the corner. Mila had tried everything – sleeping pills, meditation, even sage smudging at the suggestion of a concerned friend. Nothing helped. She’d wake gasping, drenched in sweat, the memory of those gleaming eyes seared into her mind.
Tonight, as the shadow took another step, Mila’s heart raced. She strained against the invisible bonds, willing her fingers to twitch, her toes to curl. Anything. The figure moved closer, its form becoming more defined with each step. It was tall, impossibly thin, with limbs that seemed too long for its body. As it reached the foot of her bed, Mila’s eyes widened in terror. Its face was a hollow mask, empty sockets where eyes should be, skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones.
The creature tilted its head, regarding her with an almost curious air. Then, slowly, it began to climb onto the bed. Mila felt the mattress dip under its weight, undeniably real. This was no hallucination, no trick of the mind. The demon she’d glimpsed in her paralyzed state had somehow crossed the threshold into reality.
Panic clawed at Mila’s throat as the creature loomed over her. Its breath, cold and fetid, ghosted across her face. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but her body remained frozen, betraying her when she needed it most. The demon’s mouth split into a grotesque grin, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. It lowered its face to hers, those empty sockets boring into her soul.
And then, miraculously, Mila’s fingers twitched. The paralyzing spell began to break. With a surge of desperate strength, she lashed out, her fist connecting with the creature’s jaw. It reeled back, more surprised than hurt. Mila scrambled off the bed, her legs still leaden and uncooperative. She stumbled towards the door, hearing the demon’s rasping breath behind her.
The hallway stretched before her, impossibly long. Mila’s legs felt like they were moving through molasses, each step a monumental effort. Behind her, she heard the scrape of claws on hardwood. The lavender scent intensified, choking her. As she reached for the stairs, a bony hand clamped around her ankle.
Mila crashed to the floor, her chin slamming against the worn wood. She kicked out blindly, feeling her foot connect with something solid. The demon hissed, its grip loosening just enough for her to scramble forward. She half-crawled, half-slid down the stairs, each bump sending shockwaves of pain through her body.
At the bottom, Mila lurched to her feet, making for the front door. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, precious seconds ticking by as she heard the demon’s approach. Finally, the door swung open, and Mila burst out into the night air. She ran, barefoot and gasping, down the empty street.
Only when she reached the end of the block did Mila dare to look back. The townhouse loomed in the darkness, its windows like accusing eyes. In the uppermost window, a shadow moved. Mila’s blood ran cold as she realized the truth – she might have escaped for now, but the demon was no longer confined to her dreams. It was real, corporeal, and waiting.
Mila turned and ran into the night, leaving behind the house and the horror it contained. But as the adrenaline faded and her pace slowed, a new fear gripped her. Where could she go? How could she sleep, knowing what awaited her in the realm between wakefulness and dreams? The demon had crossed over, and Mila knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that it would find her again. No matter how far she ran, no matter how long she stayed awake, eventually, she would have to close her eyes. And it would be waiting.
