|Fritz Schwimbeck - My Dream, My Bad Dream. 1915|
The first night of the year draws to a close as I'm writing this. It's five thirty. My attempt at sleeping began with short bursts of deep sleep, bringing me in a profoundly confused state. The lack of control is making me anxious, a grim atmosphere hangs over the night. I had gotten into bed only hours after getting out of it. It's one of those periods. This night I experienced something that, although I lack any formal expertise, I can safely assume was a case of sleep paralysis.
I awoke to the sight of a head laying on the pillow next to me, about a foot away. No body, just the head. Frightened, my instinct was to jump up. But I could not move, not even an inch. The head was wearing a ancient looking black mask with white detailing. It was alive. Staring at me, grinning. His mouth and eyes with tiny pupils seemed almost luminous as they pierced through the mask. I could close my eyes but it was of no use, as I kept seeing him when I did. I sensed a presence behind me. I tried to turn around but was still completely paralyzed. They started a conversation in a language unknown to me. The tall figure behind me was at first only visible from the corner of my eye as a black blur. Then he slowly came closer and closer as my heart felt like it was clutched in a fist. He bend over and although still silhouetted, I could now see the outlines of his extravagant getup. Horns, high and pointy collar, sharp shoulders. At this point the face I was still forced to look at started pouring bright red, somewhat bubbly blood from his eyes and mouth. It was thick as honey, yet flowing fast. Covering the bed in blood. He let out a heartily laugh which, I assume because of the blood, had a pronounced gurgle to it. The tall apparition then started to lay on me. His arm and legs winding around me like snakes. He then bled from his entire body, quite like squishing a wet sponge, as he spoke directly into my ear. I could feel his blood on my face and his breath in my ear, it was a burning sensation. Both laughed as they disappeared and I regained my ability to move.
Although I had already told myself that there is a perfectly logical explanation for all this, the whole ordeal had me taken aback a bit none the less. Regaining calmth was not impossible however and I fell into a sleep once more. My rush to sleep might have been a mistake as I immediately had a nightmare. Nightmares may be a tad more conventional than the previous experience, it was highly unsettling none the less. Its theme seemed to be the darkest sides of human nature. I will spare you the details but it included cannibalism on living people and the torture of children.
Five thirty-six, as I am writing the notes that would become this post, I am hearing noises in my bedroom. They are close and seem to be related to the sleep paralysis episode. Firstly, there is a rhythmic rattle that reminds me of a shaman beating his staff on the ground. The same kind of shaman that would wear the kind of mask I saw before me moments ago. A bit farther away there is the distinct sound of someone speaking in the same language as the two apparitions.
Six fifteen. All seems normal.
Six thirty-two. Although my presence is needed tonight and I haven't had a great many hours of sleep, I find it quite difficult to trust myself to the sandman again. My eyes are heavy when I write, but there is unrest in my mind. Oh well, on to breakfast then.
(I realize this post might have gotten a bit dark. To compensate, a drawing of a cat will be placed here shortly)