Like You Better Dead

6

I don't know why I open my eyes. But I know I'm scared. Terrified. And I'm too afraid to move. Because there's something watching me. I can feel the intensity of an invisible gaze through the darkness, sense a presence which is all too focused on me. Yet I can't make sense of any of the apprehension crawling icily through my veins, warning me that something simply isn't right.

Too frightened to sit up, I force my eyes to adjust to the darkness around me. Gathering my bearings, I notice that I'm still on the couch in the living room, and the memory of last night floods through my imagination. Falling asleep on the couch while watching a movie with Lance feels like an experience which occurred so many years ago, even if only a few mere hours lapsed. I want to cry out in hopes that Lance would be able to assure me that everything is okay, though I'm not sure if he's in this room with me anymore. And I'm much too worried to even turn my head to check to see if he's still sprawled on the other couch, probably sleeping soundlessly and peacefully, unlike myself.

The room slowly becomes clearer and shadows more pronounced against the backdrop of nighttime blackness the longer my eyes are granted time to realize their surroundings. I can't hear anything, nothing besides the loud pounding of my crazed heart screaming in my chest. I can feel the blood rushing to my head and my nerves dancing wildly on end, as I try to rationally convince myself that everything is okay.

But when I find the courage to dare survey the room around me, a strangled scream loses its vocality in the back of my throat, throwing off the rhythm of my erratic breathing. A dark outline of a man is standing at the edge of the couch, staring down at me, remaining still in an almost crouch as it watches me struggle to comprehend the sight. It's too dark to understand what exactly I'm looking at and what's looking at me, the night shading the figure's details too much to pick apart. But an evil sense radiates from the silhouette, a strong sense of wrong flowing freely from its being to mine. Coldness grasps my body at the realization of being under its scrutiny, forcing a deep blanket of dread to overwhelm me.

Though I can't see the figure well, I can feel its emotions of hatred directed my way, sending a wrath of heavy guilt to claim me its victim. I know I need to get away, the power and energy from the outline of the man much too strong to ignore and hope it goes away. This is different from a mere figment of my imagination — this is beyond sight and comprehension, it's a matter of instinct and intuition, feeling. And I don't know how I can create this medley of danger in my own imagination. Whatever this is, exists.

But I find myself trapped. I can't scream, I can't move. Stuck in a paralysis of fear, I can only watch in absolute horror as the figure leans closer to me, long arms blending into the darkness bracing themselves on the armrest at my legs. And I can't get away, can only wait for what terrifying event happens next. Whatever this being is isn't human, it's too dark to be real. A human wouldn't be looming over me like this, being all too still, with such an odd ability to make me feel this way. I wish I could see the figure clearly, make out its face and understand what this experience really is. And the harsh reality of knowing that this occurrence is something abnormally strange and unnatural has me wanting to curl up and hide screaming in terror and pleading for help, but I'm trapped, frozen prisoner to this moment in time.

I'm trying my hardest to thrash about and make as much noise as possible and force myself to get away and find a way to safety, but nothing really happens, and the figure continues leaning forward. It's an unrealistically slow process, as if this experience isn't actually occurring. Like a dream, a psychotic break...

The figure is closer to me now. Its hands are beside my legs supporting its animalistic, crawling body as it creeps closer to my face, its aura of cold danger wafting to my mouth so I'm suffocated by its poisonous existence. This can't be happening. Can't be. Yet I'm shaking and crying and fighting an evil force while not actually moving at all. The hot panic which spreads like wildfire across the surface of my harshly cold skin leaves me feeling sick and stuck with inescapable thoughts of impending doom. The closer the black entity advances, the closer I am to the death I feel is so impossibly near.