I’m not scared of the dark, but sometimes it shifts, you know? Making you refocus on what you can see. I’ve just woken and as my eyes adjust, I notice a spider on the bedroom wall. Just sitting there, but obvious. It’s huge – probably just a little smaller than my hand. It’s like the bug is weighing me up, staring at me, motionless.
I snap my eyes shut and hold them closed for a count of five. I must be dreaming. Opening my eyes again, I fix them on the wall. Staring through the gloom at the wallpaper, there’s nothing there.
I breathe out slowly and turn over to look towards the light of the street lamp. It filters through a gap in the heavy curtains, just enough to throw a grey, shadowy, lustre across the wardrobe – where I see the spider again. It starts to move, a spindly, soundless saunter across the dark wood door. I watch transfixed and then notice to my horror that it’s joined by hundreds of the damn things, reproducing and pouring from the every crevice I can see.
My throat feels constricted and I panic as I fumble to switch on the bedside lamp. A yellow, synthetic light fills the room. I look round and the spiders are gone.
“It’s happened a few times”, I’m explaining to my friend Anth, realising how ridiculous I sound in the light of day, “usually spiders, but sometimes flying cockroaches, or just shapes. I’m terrified that they come so close.”
“You could have been over-tired, or ate something that disagreed with you – kind of a post-curry hallucination!”
“Quit taking the piss! You’re making out they don’t exist. And they seem so real.”
Anth just looks at me. “Come on, we’ll check it out on the web…No pun intended.” He winks.
Half an hour later and I have name for my little friends. They are night terrors and lots of people experience them.
“See,” says Anth “They don’t exist, they’re in your mind, and only appear between light sleep and waking. If you take some sedatives you won’t be half-awake to see them. C’mon, my Mam’s got some valium you can have.”
I’ve woken up again and I’m staring apprehensively into the darkness of the room. There’s nothing there, no spiders, no moths, no flying cockroaches. ‘The night terrors probably go when you know what they are’, I think, as I lie back. Then there, just above my head, dangles another spider. I’m frozen with terror, my breathing shallow. But I maintain my gaze – I’m determined not to be freaked out by the little bastard. As it sees me watching, it retraces its journey up the thread somewhere into the ceiling. Once more, like a spillage of oil, more creatures start to surge across the ceiling and onto the wall. I’m transfixed as they flow mutely into a non-existent hole in the corner.
I take the drugs Anth suggested, grateful for the numbness that fills my body and the blanket that covers my mind. As I close my eyes, I see the last spider disappear into the wall.
The spiders and bugs return, aware that the deep, laboured breathing of the body on the bed shows it’s completely comatose. This will be their last visit, for now they can feed. They move as one, a writhing deluge of insects that penetrates every orifice. They take the body first, and then move through the nasal passage to the brain. This is the sweetest taste, where they gorge on the taste of terror.
Linda Jameson currently works as an editor for a University website. She has also had concert reviews published on her local BBC website. She’s getting a bit bored with writing facts and wants to try to be more creative.
Deeply creepy, Linda. I loved it! Certainly redefines those night terrors. Looking forward to reading more of your work!