Horror Stories

How I Sleep

I rarely sleep alone. Not that I have a choice in the matter. The night always starts and for that matter always ends the same. Knock back a few sleeping pills, take off my socks and let myself get drowsy. Couldn't tell you why I even take them still, the pills that is.

I'm a creature of habit you could say. Then again so is she.

I guess you could also say we're inseparable, not that I planned it that way, that's just how it is now. Every night I wait and every night her face appears. No matter how badly I clog myself with prescription pills I can feel her arrival.

Sometimes she's just a face, sometimes just a jaggedly rearranged torso. I couldn't tell you what's worse; her wide eyed contorted look of hatred or that delirious look of malignant joy spattered across it's twisted face.

It paces too. Or it glides like it's on a conveyor belt back and forth. Her eyes never leaving mine. Eyes wild with rage.

The nights when the body of the thing lays itself beside me, to find us face to face with her lips agape, as if she was mimicking my horrified reaction is beyond description.

My whole body becomes liquefied with fear and I bolt upright to escape but never make it past my bedroom door. My legs fail me and I'm suddenly a heap by my dresser drawer.

That's when she kneels, purses her fat purple lips and utters the only words I've ever heard her say since that night.

"You shouldn't have killed me."