Dearest

by Jacquie Walters

Flora has just fallen asleep when a crushing, deafening noise fills her ears. Like metal gears screeching and clashing. She tries to stand and investigate, but she cannot move. And then it hits her. it’s happening again Her body is deadweight. Her legs, arms, torso, head—all of them frozen in place, stiff like rigor mortis. Only her eyeballs can dart around in their sockets. Sleep paralysis. She hasn’t experienced this since she was a child. She figured she had outgrown it long ago. But as the familiar feeling sinks in, fear snakes itself around her limbs like living ropes. Flora tries to use her rational, adult brain to will away the terror. this is just a nightmare just your brain playing tricks But the fear lives in her body, which is now rigid with memory as the paralysis attack follows the same pattern it always did when she was little. Her arms are tight against her sides, as if she is wrapped in a cocoon, her chest tightening. She feels the warm trickle of a tear down her cheek. And then comes the peak: a heavy weight she has long thought of as the Night Hag, who sits on her chest and stomach, crushing her organs until she knows the insides of her body will soon be on the outside.