I open my eyes, and I’m afraid. There’s a shadow hovering over me, a weight pressing down on my body, my chest–can’t move, can’t breathe. I try to scream, but the noise stops in the back of my throat.

Wake up.

But I’m awake. M. is asleep beside me, the trash trucks are growling outside again, and the woman in 6D is smoking again (it seeps through the floorboards).

The shadow moves in, closer, closer. And there’s a face now, strangely familiar like something from childhood I can’t place–a slanted smile, a wink of teeth, something cold on my neck, something warm from neck, something metallic in my mouth.

I tell myself that I’m dreaming. In the morning, I won’t remember this, only a dull afterglow. I will wake up later than usual, and I’ll blame the rain. M. will be gone, a coffee stain left on the counter. I’m dreaming. My eyes are open, but I’m dreaming.

According to the American Academy of Sleep Medicine’s International Classification of Sleep Disorders, “isolated sleep paralysis occurs at least once in a lifetime in 40% to 50% of normal subjects.” If you haven’t experienced this phenomenon already, chances are you will at some point in your life:

Sleep paralysis provides an explanation for a variety of supernatural occurrences. Dr. David J. Hufford, a professor at Penn State College of Medicine, has devoted much of his career to the study of “the experiential grounds for spiritual beliefs.” His book, “The Terror That Comes in the Night: An Experience Centered Study of Supernatural Assault Traditions,” focuses on real life accounts of “old hag attacks”–sleep paralysis accompanied by the terrifying hallucination that a demon, or “old hag,” is sitting upon the sleeper’s chest.

Alien abductions, ghostly hauntings, vampire visitations–the science of sleep paralysis explains them away. It has even been linked to cases of Sudden Unexpected Nocturnal Death Syndrome–the nighttime affliction said to have inspired Wes Craven to write A Nightmare on Elm Street (whatever you do, don’t fall asleep)…

Years ago, when I was a child, before vampires turned sparkly and sensitive–when they were still scary–I experienced sleep paralysis on a number of occasions. I would wake up in the night in a state of intense fear, unable to move or cry out, and I would see–clear as day–a vampire hovering among the tangible contents of my room. Like other childhood visions (I also saw the Easter bunny), these nighttime visitors were dismissed by my parents as the product of my overactive imagination.

But I’m not a child anymore, and the visitors have come back.

And while sleep paralysis may explain why I can’t move or scream or fight, it doesn’t explain these two strange puncture wounds on my neck. It doesn’t explain why I’m so incredibly hungry…

Tonight, while you slumber sweetly in your bed, your brain will secrete a chemical that will paralyze your body.

What a perfect time for a vampire to attack.

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Photos of the author by James Kusher.

Other images: circo de invierno ⑲ ~, fineartregistry.com, amoeba.com

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