The devil rode me in my sleep.
I was stuck in a heavy slumber. My mind was in a trance, unable to control body movements, nor could I tell myself how to open my eyes.
So desperately I wanted to wake up, yet my body felt as though it was being forcefully held down upon the bed. Unable to scream I waited, wondering if ever I would awake again. Living alone was not like I had imagined. It was my second night in my new apartment on 4th Avenue in Sunset Park. The French Doors that separated my bedroom from the remainder of the apartment seemed charming when I first crawled under my bedspread and read two chapters of an Anne Rice Mayfair witch novel under the soft glow of a tulip shaped stained glass night light. If only I could wake up and turn on the light. But I was stuck in a place somewhere between consciousness and delusion.
What if I were to remain stuck in this sleeping coma for all of eternity? I just laid there. I had no choice. I reassured myself in my state of paralysis, remembering the same thing happened to me as a child. I tried yelling for Mom but couldn’t. Even my mouth seemed zipped shut.
I told Mom about it the next day. She said it was the devil riding me and the same thing happened to her on occasion. She made it seem like that type of dreaming was no big deal and it happens all the time. It was morning. I was eating cereal and was happy that I was awake again. I just laid there all alone, reminiscing of childhood when the devil rode me in my sleep.
Finally I was able to open my eyes just a bit, enough to see the darkness in the room that seemed to hold me captive.
“Get behind me, Satan!” I tried to scream with all my might, but nothing came out.
The room was dark and empty. I wished I had shut the windows before going to bed. It was obvious, a dark sinister force was consuming me. Just let go, Charles, just let it take you, there is nothing you can do.
Morning came. The devil was gone. The sun struck my face but I knew that the devil had ridden me in my sleep.