PARALYSIS

I used to believe certain things only happened to other people. Dark stories that belonged to headlines or urban legends. Never me.

But I was wrong.

This is not fiction. This is what happened.

My name is Nova. I'm seventeen—eighteen in a few days—and lately, I’ve been counting the hours until I can disappear.

Home no longer feels like home. My parents argue like it’s a sport, breaking silence like glass, again and again. Every word feels like a knife that’s forgotten who it was meant for.

I needed to get away. Just for a while.

Aunt Carol offered a place. A quiet house just outside the city. She said I could stay until I felt strong enough to return.

I believed her.

She met me at the door with her usual sweetness, a floral apron tied around her waist and the faint smell of lavender clinging to the air. Inside, she introduced me to a boy—Lucas. Eight years old, small, fragile, already lost in the world.

“He’s Patty’s grandson,” she said. “My best friend from childhood. I’m watching him for a while.”

Lucas barely looked up. He drooled softly and stared through me, like a ghost trying to remember how to be a child. There was something empty in his eyes. Something not there.

I tried not to judge.

Carol told me they were still waiting on a diagnosis. No one really knew what was wrong with him. That’s what I thought.

That night, we had dinner together. The three of us. Lucas sat across from me, spoon in hand, unmoving for minutes at a time. Then suddenly, he spoke.

“Have you seen it?” he asked. “Behind the curtain?”

I blinked. “Seen what?”

Before he could answer, Carol cut in, smiling too brightly.

“Would you like some orange juice, dear?”

I hesitated. “No, thanks.”

The conversation drifted away like fog, and we never returned to it.

That was the last time I saw Lucas.

I woke later that night to a dull thudding sound.

A slow, repetitive pounding against the wall—my bedroom wall. Lucas was murmuring something next door, his voice muffled but constant, like a prayer being spoken underwater.

He’d acted strangely before, but this… this felt different. Darker.

He sounded further away than he should have.

And I—I did nothing. I told myself I couldn’t help. That it wasn’t my place. I turned over and closed my eyes.

By morning, Lucas was gone.

Carol greeted me in the kitchen with scrambled eggs and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“This is Oliver,” she said, gesturing toward a new boy. “Patty’s nephew. I’ll be taking care of him for a little while.”

I stared. “Where’s Lucas?”

“With Patty,” Carol replied, almost too quickly. “She couldn’t manage both children at once.”

That made sense, in theory. Patty was old—Carol’s age, maybe older. I’d seen her before. Frail hands, tired eyes.

Oliver, in contrast, was full of energy. “Where are the toys?” he demanded.

Carol laughed and led him off, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.

I hadn’t even been here two full days.

But something already felt... off.

Later that day, I looked out the window and saw a man staring up at me.

I’d seen him earlier, wandering the block. His clothes were torn, his hair tangled, skin dusted with ash and time. He never blinked.

He never looked away.

Carol said he was just a troubled junkie.

But that afternoon, as I stepped out, he called to me. Low. Urgent.

I didn’t go.

God, I wish I had.

The next morning, I ran into Oliver in the hallway.

He looked… wrong.

His skin was pale. His mouth hung open. A ribbon of drool traced his chin. And his eyes—those eyes I had seen once before.

He wasn’t the boy I’d met the day before.

“Leave,” he whispered.

That’s all he said.

Then Carol appeared, bright as morning sun.

“Oh! There you are, Oliver,” she cooed. “Time for breakfast. If you don’t eat, you’ll never be ready.”

As she walked away, she looked at me over her shoulder.

“You coming?”

I followed her.

I didn’t know it then. But that would be the last normal morning of my life.

The day dissolved quietly.

I was alone in my room again. The night folded in around me like a hush held too long.

Warm light from the bedside lamp spilled across my bed as I lay there, book in hand, pages turning slowly. Just me and the ticking of the clock. And the kind of silence that almost feels like it’s listening.

In the far corner, a single chair sat facing the bed. Empty. Still.

I didn’t remember if it had always been there.

The clock on the nightstand read 9:45 p.m., and time passed — unannounced.

The clock now read 12:15 a.m.

The lamp was off. The room dimmed itself. My book was closed on the nightstand, glasses resting neatly on top. Once upright and alert, I was now sleeping. I had drifted onto my back, eyes shut, breathing slow, a little uneven. I was somewhere between rest and something deeper.

But the dark had thickened. Like it had weight. Intention.

And then—

The door creaked shut.

The sound dragged me out of sleep. My eyes snapped open. But the rest of me... did not.

Paralysis.

No motion. No sound. Only the realization. I was awake inside something that did not want me to be.

I knew what it was. I’d read about it. I’d heard the stories.

Sleep paralysis.

Only this didn’t feel like sleep. And something told me this wasn’t just a story anymore.

Trapped. Inside my own body.

I tried to lift my hand — it twitched, but stayed. I willed my mouth to move. Stillness. Panic bloomed slowly and my chest was locked tight.

The only thing I could move were my eyes.

So I used them.

My gaze jumped from corner to corner, desperate.

I looked to the right. Then left.

And that’s when it happened—

Snap.

The curtain.

The one draped over the closet.

It slammed shut with violent speed, the fabric still dancing after the motion had ended. Like someone had just passed through it. Nothing in the room had touched it. The air held no wind. Yet it moved.

The room stayed silent.

I stared. Eyes wide. Unblinking. Frozen in my own skin.

Then, behind the curtain— A figure began to emerge — slowly, deliberately.

The curtain pulled away as it walked forward, revealing, not all at once...

Feet first. Then hands. Then a shadowy torso.

The face still hidden.

I wanted to close my eyes, to break the dream, to vanish back into sleep—but I couldn’t.

Then, from the left—

Crack. A sudden sound, sharp and hollow.

I snapped my gaze towards it — desperate.

Nothing. Only the dark pressing up against the walls like breath held too long.

I looked back toward the closet.

Gone.

The figure had vanished. Only the curtain remained — hung limp again, like it had never moved.

But I knew it had. Something had.

The silence was louder than before.

Where is it now?

I didn’t know, didn’t want to.

My breathing quickened. My forehead slick. My eyes wide and darting, tracing every line of shadow for movement. I could feel it still. The wrongness. The presence.

Then suddenly— My body surged upright. Soaked in sweat.

A gasp ripped out of me. My chest heaved. I was awake—really awake.

A dream. Just a dream.

That’s what I told myself.

Over and over again.

My breaths came quick and shallow. My shirt clung to my skin. I groaned softly, dragging a hand down my face trying to steady my breath. Relief started to settle in.

Until I turned to my left—

A body.

A shape beneath the sheet beside me — motionless.

It wasn’t over.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t scream. I just leaned in. Slowly. Like I could stop the moment from coming if I moved gently enough.

I reached forward, hand trembling, breath caught in my throat.

I lifted the sheet.

Bit by bit.

And found...

Nothing.

The bed was empty.

Then—

Ssshkk.

The chair in the corner scraped softly against the floor.

I turned to look.

It looked... recently empty.

Every nerve inside me snapped awake again.

Nothing.

Just the shadows leaning in.

Then—

Breathing.

Soft.

Too close.

Right beside me.

I turned.

And it was there — The thing. The presence. The demon that wears your paralysis like skin.

Its face, inches from mine.

Not smiling. Not growling. Just watching.

Waiting...

That was last night.

I haven’t slept since.

If I survive tonight…

I’ll tell you what happens next...

Enjoyed the story? Let me know in the comments if you'd like Part 2: INSOMNIA.

— kriskoy