She Sends Her Spirit in the Night

I know when she is coming, that fucking hag.

My limbs get all heavy and sore, like my joints are swelling. I can feel a pressure on top of me, the weight of someone holding me down. My skin starts to crawl and if I was asleep, i’m not anymore.

When I open my eyes I know she is already there. I can feel her. Sometimes she’s waiting just above, stuck to the ceiling like some demonic weed, claws out and anchoring her. Sometimes she is under the bed and she comes up from the end, rising as a dark shadow with the palest face and glowing eyes.

I can’t scream and at this point, what does it matter? Nothing will come out but a shallow gasp.

She sends her spirit, that fucking witch. She’s ugly, not actually but the sneer on her face and the hatred in her eyes make it so. Her hair is wild and she was considered very beautiful in her day but now only contempt becomes her. She crawls over me and I can feel it, every press of her bony hands and knees, right into my ribs and the fleshiest parts of my form.

God it hurts. She’s heavy for being a spirit. But the pain doesn’t stop there.

She sits on me night after and night, she takes her claws and she digs them into my chest and throat. She punctures me and twists the meaty bits inside me. She plays with parts never meant to see the light of day and sometimes, when she is in a particularly bad mood, she tears into my gorgeous face.

I hate her and night after night, she tortures me.

She sends her spirit to drive me insane.

She is hateful because I condemned her for the witch she is. Her screams filled the night and the smell of her cooked flesh was repulsive. She died a horrible, slow death.

She can burn several times over on that stake.

Get the fuck out of my dreams.

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