I was filled with hope, too. Perhaps now I could finally end this madness.
I knew exactly what she was going through, and I hated Nightmare for doing this to her and to others like her. Hated him with all my ghostly heart. You see, I myself had confronted Nightmare, and nearly destroyed him.
Nearly.
But the bastard had slipped through my fingers, literally.
And I wouldn’t rest, either in this world or the next, until he was destroyed forever.
Soon enough the bathroom door opened, filling the bedroom with golden light, and as she walked out, her incredible form silhouetted in the door frame, she could have easily been an angel taking me away from this world and my haunted books.
To my slight dismay, she quickly donned a pair of sweats and slipped into bed.
Bed.
Sleep.
Nightmare would be here soon.
The son-of-a-bitch.
She kept a reading light on, and was re-reading the sleep preparations outlined in my book.
The most important procedure to rid oneself of the demon, the psychic vampire called Nightmare, are the sleep preparations. I sidled up next to her, and just as I did so, the hair along her forearms shot up. Ah, the living always know we spirits are near. At least, they do on a very deep level. Perhaps too deep for most.
As she read, I drifted back into the far corner, waiting for what I was certain would come.
I wasn’t surprised.
As soon as the book fell to her lap and her head nodded off to one side, Nightmare appeared.
* * *
Nightmare was massive.
In the physical world, Nightmare is seen only as a shimmering substance, like a sheet of water suspended in the air. Now that I could see him with new eyes, so to speak, I saw what he really was, and he was penultimately terrifying.
Sweet Jesus. What have I gotten myself into?
The thing that had materialized near her bedroom window was easily seven feet tall. It had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His head, long and thin, looked like a horse’s head. The pointy things just missing the ceiling were short horns. His skin was translucent, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t seeing through him.
Sweet Jesus.
What he was, I didn’t know. Actually, I did know. He was a parasite. A spiritual parasite, a dream twister, a psychic vampire who sucked away pleasant dreams, and turned sleep into night terrors. I hoped that Susan would never know what was truly standing over her. But that was up to her, wasn’t it? That was up to how seriously she had heeded my advice in the book.
Yes, I had seen Nightmare once before. Years ago, and it had scared the hell out of me. That’s when he had escaped me.
But not this time, dammit.
I wondered with some fear if the massive entity could see me in return. Possibly. But so far he gave no indication, so intent was he on tormenting Susan.
Then again, what could he do to me? Kill me more? I was already as dead as I would ever be.
I didn’t know why, but Nightmare was visibly shaking. Perhaps with anticipation. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what drove him to do what he did, or it did, since it appeared sexless.
Looking back at Susan, I saw that she was the picture of sleep. I hoped so. I hoped she could pull this off...and I would certainly help in any way I could.
I went back to staring at the entity that had haunted me most of my adult life, that had stolen so much from me. The entity that had destroyed my marriage and made my existence a living nightmare. The entity that even now kept me earthbound, unable to move on. Unwilling to move on.
Fascinated, I watched as he approached her bed warily. A hideous, foul creature, yes, but he was also extremely cautious. Did he sense a trap?
The instructions in my book were clear. One problem: I had been unable to follow them. I had faltered at the last possible moment, and Nightmare had escaped me.
So how did I know how to destroy him?
I didn’t, not precisely, but I had some very good ideas. Some of which were based on my research. You see, Nightmare has been here for a long, long time. I wasn’t his first victim, and Susan wouldn’t be his last...unless we destroyed him now and forever.
I had written about my mistake. Would Susan heed my warning?
I didn’t know, but I watched as Nightmare lowered his horse head towards her, simultaneously reaching out with impossibly long fingers with jagged, filthy, blackened nails. Now inches from her forehead, his twisted fingers waved in the air as if he were playing a ghostly piano.
But no. Not quite. He was doing something else entirely. Sweet Jesus, what was coming out of her? It looked like red tendrils. Glowing red tendrils. Ethereal, wispy fibers. He looked like a demonic spinster spinning wool into yarn.
When he had gathered enough of the glowing material, he opened his ghastly maw and shoved it inside. I had a brief, flashing childhood memory of the Cookie Monster.
Unbelievable. He was eating her pleasant dreams! I was terrified for her.
He seemed about to reach for her again, but paused. From my position behind him, I could just catch a glimpse of his elongated face. He cocked his head slightly as if listening for something.
I would have held my breath if I had breath to hold.
Nightmare seemed satisfied and lowered his long face down towards hers again, and as he did so, Susan’s hand lashed out and grabbed the bastard by the throat.
* * *
Susan Smith lay alone and utterly terrified.
She knew with all her heart that the book was right, and that the thing coming for her was evil. If only she could just run...
But she had before, hadn’t she? And it didn’t work. The nightmares had followed wherever she went. The nightmares and everything that went with it: the lack of sleep, the lack of energy. All of which cut into her personal and professional life.
The book had been a godsend. She had searched everywhere for relief from the nightmares, from hypnotherapy to aromatherapy to prescription drugs to changing her diet to one that was devoid of spices.
Nothing had worked.
And then just today, after Googling the subject and perusing page after page of quackery, she came upon a Los Angeles County Library book about nightmares and how to beat them. The book sounded promising, and she had dashed off to the main branch. With library card in hand, she had located the book, read through it with growing excitement, as the hair on her arms and neck stood on end, and promptly checked it out.
Admittedly, the book had been disappointingly slender, just a few ounces in her lovely, feminine hand. But she quickly got over her dismay; indeed, the author had summarized his own experiences—experiences that had precisely mirrored her own. Sweet Jesus, he had gone through exactly what she was going through!