|
DEMONS
By
Claire Godden-Rowland
I felt the end of my bed
sink; he was here again. The cold shudder of fear seized me,
vice like, relentless. He was here. I was too afraid to
look and too frightened to close my eyes so I stared,
instead, into the blackness of the room around me. I fixed
on the familiar shapes, my chest of draws, lit by the pallid
moonlight. I felt the bed shift a little as if a body had
sat down upon it. I froze, was he coming closer? I could see
the little red light on my bed side phone. If I could make
my hand reach out from the warmth of the bedding to the
unprotected cold I could touch it. I could call my stepdad,
Allen, and before long he would arrive. I would hear his key
in the lock and he would comfort me and sit up most of the
night drinking hot chocolate having searched my flat for a
ghostly presence and found none. I wanted to reach for that
phone but my hands were unmoving and claw like as they
clutched the perceived safety of the bedclothes to me.
Then I felt more movement.
He shifted his position. I felt a tug on the bed clothes. He
was pulling them from me. I felt them slither down over my
bare shoulder and the air was icy on my flesh, making my
skin prickle. I yelped with fear and grasped bed clothes
back to my shivering body. My brain was assaulted by strange
pictures, strange flashes, and images from a source unknown.
I imagined a form sliding in behind me and holding my body
against theirs. It was a man and his erection pressed
against my spine. I could feel hands over me and gentle,
teasing whispering in my ear. I curled up tighter and
coaxing hands reached to my thighs and pulled them back down
so my body fitted against his; the eager breathing in my
ear, the feral sound of hunger from deep with my mind.
I tugged the duvet,
desperately trying to re-cover my body, to protect myself
with it somehow. How was this possible, what were these
visions I was being assaulted with?
I felt an icy hand on my
ankle. This was no vision, this was real. I was being pulled
toward the demon at the end of my bed. I squealed and kicked
out, only my foot went through whatever it was which pulled
me. I heard laughter and a mixture of panic and strange
anger propelled me from the bed. As I catapulted onto the
floor and landed on my knees I grabbed my phone. I scrabbled
to my feet and before I could stop myself I turned to face
my attacker.
I screamed! The figure
rose slowly and precisely from the bed. It was tall, much
taller than me, nearly double my height, and it wore a cloak
of black with a heavy hood which covered its face
completely. It looked like the archetypal images of the grim
reaper. I screamed again, louder, more violently. For a
heartbeat I was frozen to the spot, my legs like stone, and
my heart pounding hard against my breast. I was wearing only
shorts and a vest but I was sweating with terror. The demon
lifted a hand to me, a long bony hand which appeared human,
like a human male’s, with dark hair across the knuckles. It
seemed so real that for a moment I paused, but as I watched
the demon I realised I could see my curtains, my window, I
could see through him. The hand reached for me and then I
realised the creature was making a noise. It was shushing
me, a low broken hiss to silence me as it approached. I spun
around, slammed painfully into my bedroom door and fumbled
helplessly with the handle. The thing was behind me, so
close I could hear its breathing, deep, laboured breathing.
I could feel it, all of it, its presence too close, far too
close. Then my mind disappeared to another place once more.
Tearing between my legs, repeated ripping, sharp, acute
pain. There was a hand covering my mouth to stop me crying
out for help, and a shushing, a low hiss of shushing hot on
my ear.
Top of page |
Page
1/3 |
Next Page
|
