Alex Jacobs-Goodnight

Some tea, candles, meditation, again. It will work this time, you told yourself, your mind anxiously racing. It has to work. 

One good night of sleep was all you needed, one good, uninterrupted night without that man, a ghost really, invading your dreams. You shuddered just thinking about his increasing visits, his slow walk around your bed as you were frozen in paralysis, unable to move, unable to scream.

He would smile, showing off crooked teeth, his long hair jet black and his eyes red, an ornate ring on each finger, except the left ring finger. And then he would come closer, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his body on top of yours but still careful not to touch you, yet. And then, he would lie down next to you, smelling you, whispering. 

He was always whispering, but you could never make out the words, his voice like a faint rumbling of leaves under the autumn wind. One of his fingers would slowly extend, the tips of his fingers black, like dipped in dirt, and he would carefully remove a strand of hair clinging to your lips away from your face.

“Pretty,” you heard him say once, your eyes immediately darting to his lips.

It sent a different kind of shudder through you, his touch and his voice.

This night was no different. He was already in bed with you when you woke, your mind in a panic. You could smell him before your eyes even got accustomed to the dark, an earthy scent mixed with a little bit of sulfur. Your breath hitched in an instant, and your heart was beating so hard it drowned out any other sound in your ears as you desperately tried to blink him away.

He smiled even wider, enjoying your panic. His finger was extended already, and you noticed the ring was shaped more like a claw, a sharp, gold metal glimmering under the street light making its way through your blinds.

Whispering again, you tried to make out the words, focusing on the movements of his lips. Everyone kept telling you your nightly visitor was not real. A figment of your imagination and a consequence of trauma; there were no ghosts or demons, and nothing supernatural was happening in your bedroom.

You tried to tell them that this guy was different; sure, you were visited by sleep paralysis demons before, and sure, they were terrifying. But this guy, he was something else. You even went to church to get blessed, the priest trying to calm you down by repeatedly telling you that you were not getting possessed. 

The more alone you were feeling, the more often he would come, and although initially disturbing, his visits became more soothing. Like you were a lamb he was trying to convince to willingly come to the slaughter.

And there was something else you couldn’t quite place, but it was so hard to look away from him… Although at first you found him repulsive, the black veins prominent on his face sending cold chills down your spine, you would describe him as charming. Magnetic. Charismatic. Seductive.

It was hard to tell what was real and what was not when you found yourself in this petrified state, except that you couldn’t move and couldn’t talk. So perhaps your friends were right. Perhaps this mysterious demon wasn’t real either. Perhaps feeling a cold, prickly metal slowly scraping against your lip was just your mind playing tricks on you.

He smiled, the hushest of growls escaping his throat, and then repeated it, his finger sliding over your lip faster, and then he quickly curled it, causing the sharp metal to pierce your skin. Surely, if this were real, the sensation alone would wake you up?

“So pretty,” he whispered, watching a drop of blood form and slide down your chin. He collected it with another finger, his touch featherlight, and licked his fingertip.

“And so tasty,” his pupils went wide, black on red filling your sight, as he slowly pushed you onto your back and crawled over you.

You realised, when a bunch of pendants, talismans, dragged over your chest, that he was shirtless under his jacket, a bunch of line tattoos that you couldn’t quite make out outlining his toned chest. Your breath hitched again, for a different reason, and you closed your eyes quickly. 

When you opened them again, he was still there, that twisted smile still on his face, his long, fine hair tickling your skin. He leaned in, his nose dragging over your shoulder until it reached the crook of your neck; he inhaled, a hoarse chuckle escaping his throat. You could feel cold sweat forming at the back of your neck, and you still couldn’t look away.

“I wonder what else tastes good?” he teased, his finger burning into the sensitive skin of the hollow of your throat. 

You exhaled sharply, still trying to speak, to scream.

He dragged his finger slowly in a straight line, stopping just above the thin fabric of your panties.

“And what do we have here?” he whispered as you desperately tried to move, a cold shiver forming at the small of your back. 

Gently, he pushed your legs wider, mesmerisingly staring at the wet spot on your panties, two of his fingers now sliding over it, before he pushed your panties aside. Cold air collided with your slick-ridden pussy, his fingers slowly pushing their way between your folds. You sighed.

He slid them up, spreading your needy juices over your clit, then down again, pushing a finger inside you. It felt good, so fucking good, his long finger slowly massaging your walls as his thumb kept drawing circles over your clit. Perhaps the nightmare was turning into something else entirely. 

Slowly, feeling a little bit of resistance, your mysterious demon started to introduce another of his long fingers, pulling out the first one slightly, your stomach disappointingly dropping at the loss of stimulation. You felt it then, your pussy acting as if it had a mind of its own, more of your slick gushing over his fingers as he finally pushed them both fully in.

A cold metal of his rings was pressing against your fluttering walls, a sensation so unexpectedly pleasant you felt like you almost moved. He kept pumping his fingers even as he leaned down, smelling your pussy, a first lick sending the most enjoyable shivers through you.

The knot in your stomach, long formed, was tightening as your demon kept lapping at your pussy, sucking at your clit, his fingers still tirelessly finger fucking you, the dual sensation completely overwhelming you. If only you could talk, talk and beg for his cock. 

He curled his fingers, hitting that one spot that was always bound to tip you over the edge, an orgasm so intense it finally released you from your paralytic shackles, shameless whimpers and moans falling from your lips as you ground your hips against his face, trying to prolong the feeling that made you feel so inconceivably good.

When you finally opened your eyes, still gripping your sheets, you were alone in your room, no demonic presence to be noted anywhere. You turned around, trying to sleep, ignoring the puddle of sweat you found yourself in.

Perhaps all of your dreams could end like this, you thought to yourself, grabbing a toothbrush, before stopping dead in your tracks. It was still visible: a little blood dried on your chin, and the tiniest of the cuts on your lower lip.

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