Chapter 1
Meet Cute
Thisisareallyfucked up dream.
I’m lying in bed and I can’t move, and there is this great big hulking shadow thing lurking in my bedroom doorway.
Why is my subconscious doing this to me? What have I ever done to it? I don’t deserve this.
I’ve had sleep paralysis before. It’s never pleasant, but usually my brain conjures up something generic. A dark presence pressing on my chest. The sensation of being watched. Sometimes just the overwhelming certainty that something terrible is about to happen.
But this? This is new. And weirdly specific.
The shadow thing is tall. Really tall. It has to be at least six foot something, maybe more. I can barely make out the shape of broad shoulders and what suspiciously looks like a very athletic, masculine frame. There is a suggestion of thick hair falling to shoulder length. The faintest hint of a sharp jawline.
And eyes. Glowing red eyes that are staring right at me.
Fuck. That’s unsettling.
I try to move. Try to thrash or scream or do literally anything. But my body refuses to cooperate. I’m frozen. Completely paralysed. My heart is hammering in my chest and my breathing is shallow and rapid, but everything else is locked down tight.
The shadow doesn’t move. It just stands there. Watching me.
This is fine. This is just a dream. A really vivid, uncomfortable dream, but still just a dream. Sleep paralysis does this. Makes things feel real when they are not. I know this. I googled it extensively after the last episode.
I just need to wait it out. Eventually my brain will catch up with reality and I’ll be able to move again. Then I can turn on the light, grab my phone, and scroll through social media until my heart rate returns to normal and I forget all about this nonsense.
The shadow shifts. Just slightly. As if it is leaning against the doorframe now, getting comfortable.
Oh great. It’s settling in for the long haul. Fantastic.
I stare at it. Or rather, I stare at where I think its face should be. Those red eyes are still burning into me. They don’t blink. They don’t waver. They just watch with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
There is something familiar about this. Something that tugs at the edges of my memory. I can’t quite place it, but it’s there. Lurking in the back of my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.
Wait.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
I know what this is. I know exactly what this is.
The monster under my bed.
When I was a kid, I was convinced there was a monster living under my bed. Not a generic monster. A specific one. A child like me, but tall and made of shadows with glowing red eyes and a presence that made the air feel heavy and cold.
I was terrified of it. Absolutely petrified. I refused to let any part of my body hang over the edge of the mattress. I would lie perfectly still in the centre of the bed, covers pulled up to my chin, barely breathing. Waiting for morning.
My parents thought I had an overactive imagination. They tried everything. Night lights. Dream catchers. Letting me sleep in theliving room. Nothing worked. Because I knew the monster was real. I could feel it watching me.
Eventually I grew out of it. Or maybe I just got better at ignoring it. Either way, I stopped thinking about the monster under my bed years ago.
And now here it is. Standing in my doorway. Taller now, but staring at me with those same glowing red eyes.
This is so fucked up.
Why is my brain doing this? What deep-seated childhood trauma am I processing right now? Do I need therapy? I probably need therapy.
