Page 27 of Palingenesis

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Wake up. My arms tremble—whether from the force of holding myself together or from fear, I’m uncertain—and a bead of sweat collects on my temple. Fucking hell, c’mon! I shiver as it rolls down my face, pausing at my jaw, and that’s when I feel it. The ghost of a touch, like a feather-light finger smudging down the trail. Teasing me, touching me.

A deep ache blossoms in my chest—one that I can’t make sense of—only half a second before I snap my eyes open and scream.

Chapter 16

Shannon

It’s a monster.

I’m not sure if it’s instinct or a death wish, maybe even just out of habit, that has me waving my arms in front of me like a madman, slashing my limbs through the fog above with words I can’t recognize on the tips of my fingers. I swing hard while signing my curses big, my mouth wide with a yell I desperately try to hear

It all just sounds like cotton—feels like cotton—as I scramble away from the thing and crash to the floor. An oof bursts out of my chest, though I’m not sure if the sound makes it past the lump wedged in my throat.

The thing … swirls and slowly sways like magnets finding their way back together in this weird ethereal form, the edges of it tightening and defining limbs similar to that of … a person–arms, legs, a head. It crouches low on the bed, joints popping and body morphing.

“Fuck,” I sign with wide, bleary eyes and a pounding to my heart.

It’s going to kill me.

This is no regular bad dream. It’s got to be one of the night terrors I’ve read about where people relive trauma in some really fucked up way while they’re sleeping. Nightmares happen, but I typically know where I am and how to get back, what it’ll take to wake myself back up. Who to run to and who to run from. This is a whole other beast of something fucked going on in my psyche. Some form of torture I’ve concocted to deal with life.

A life… I can’t recall.

Worrying about whether I’ve had some recent head trauma feels more like a future me problem though as my gaze flickers to the door. It’s cracked open, beckoning me with its sliver of unknown darkness peeking between the panel and the jamb, just a few feet past the bed.

I can do this.

I can make that.

Sparing one final look at the thing lingering on the comforter, I launch from my spot on the floor, bare feet slipping on the hardwood as I haul ass for the exit.

The painting-adorned walls blur past, decorated with candle holders just as big as in the bedroom, and I dash down the stairs two at a time despite my still tender ankle. A foyer opens up at the bottom, expansive and mosaic tiled, that leads right to the glow of what has to be sunlight waiting just on the other side of the frosted glass entry.

Lungs pumping hard, I sprint for it, yanking it open with all my might. Hope springs anew when it gives way to exactly what I expected—a dewy morning reflecting first light.

“Ha-ha!” I sign wide, accompanying it with a real laugh I’m sure sounds just as manic as it feels as I run away from this nightmare, that house–completely nude.

I’d almost forgot.

Flipping it the middle finger just motivates me to run faster, smile harder, dick swinging in the wind.

It feels like I… accomplished something by getting away. Like I won. That I managed to do it by myself, even if this is just an illusion.

“Fuck you, subconsciousness.”

Another uncontrollable laugh bubbles up my throat when I glance over my shoulder and see the house shrinking between the trees, the forest slowly swallowing it up, and no sign of the creepy smoke silhouette.

“I did it. Suck it, nightmare!”

I grin so wide it hurts, whatever test I was putting myself through passed, and I turn back to face front when it all comes screeching to a halt.

I slam into something solid, skidding over the dirt path before I bounce backward, throwing my arms out to steady myself. My bare heels dig into the earth below for balance. Through all my efforts, my instincts fail me and I feel myself falling; tilting. The air slices through my flailing limbs. Tensing, I brace for an impact that never comes.

Confused, I pry open my squeezed-shut eyes.

The ground is closer than it should be, packed soil and rocks close enough to smell, jutting root systems reaching out for my suspended frame as if they were prepared to catch me,

My skin tingles with an alarming awareness, centering in on my wrist and the way it pulls.