I started having sleep paralysis experiences in 1991, in September or so. I remember very clearly that something deeply troubling was happening to me when I would lie down to sleep. Often, as a preclude to these experiences, I had a dread sense that something was coming for me.
The strange thing was, it began happening after a short nap one afternoon. I had been doing landscaping, got really tired, had some lunch, showered, and decided to take a nap. I had a dream that I was dead. I could smell my own death, the corpse in me, as though I were outside of time and was inhabiting a dead mind. I tried to wake up and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breath. There was a crushing weight that blotted out the world, driving down into darkness, dissolution.
I woke up in a drugged kind of panic. I felt like I was in a box of pressurized clear syrup. It scared the poop out of me. The next day, same thing, but this time the feeling of being crushed and obliterated was accompanied by the realization that I was dying from a heroin overdose, that I’d taken too much and I was dying. Still firing, my brain struggled to deliver me a sense of loss, a loss of body, a loss of understanding. Something was coming to fetch my spirit. I belonged to something and it was coming. I suddenly awoke and I was pretty depressed that I was a dead junky. Then I realized I wasn’t dead, but I still felt drugged. I checked my arms. I still smelled my dead self and I tumbled from the bed, trying to get away from it.
Then things started to happen regularly. It was about this time something really fucking weird happened to me on top of Blood Mountain in a lightning storm, but I don’t want to bring it up. It might be related, but it’s not about night terrors.
I went through a period of not having any visitations for a few years. I looked up night terrors in the Emory University library in Atlanta, studied the medical and mythological models, still didn’t know why or what about these events. Things got worse. Things got fucking weird and scary.
I traveled to Greece and was sleeping in a cave in a place called The Valley of the Dead, on the southern tip of the island, west of Malia. I remember thinking I could hear an owl hooting. There were no trees for like a quarter mile, no buildings, nothing but brush and pottery shards and burial caves in a fairly windless shallow valley. I could hear the owl getting closer, hooting louder. I thought it was funny, but it got louder and louder. I could tell it was coming for me, and it was masquerading as an owl, whatever it was. This same feeling of dread, of being frozen. The owl screeches grew more insistent and filled my head. It was in my head and it was consuming me. The screech became a continuous deafening howl and I thought my head would burst. I awoke and my head was killing me and I felt like something had been in the cave with me.
A month later, in 1992, March, I had a dream that a large red-haired man came and sauntered around the narrow top edge of an orchard wall enclosed within the property of a youth hostel, in Sitia. The red-haired man was talking to me when his head opened and glowing balls and metal objects came out of his head and pierced my orifices. I felt utterly terrified, but then – and this harkened back to a lucid dreaming spell I’d had in order to vanquish falling dreams ( I did that when I was about nine years old, never had another). I became detached within my mind and saw my body, plugged and being drained, and I was not afraid. A cavalcade of specters paraded past me, things and scenarios that had frightened me before, but suddenly impotent to move me, unable to feed off my fear. I awoke laughing, drifted off to sleep and was immediately plunged into a new, frightening dream of being in a telescoping roller-coaster ride through a hellish landscape. Awoke crying. I still have “never-ending telescoping” dreams where, like a fractal, I keep having to get somewhere to get somewhere. An airport blossoms with terminals. Highways spiral into infinity. I still visit some of these dreamscapes, but I just “wipe them away” from my mind. I’ve grown tired of them. I drew a picture of the red-haired man on the wall at the youth hostel. Over the course of the year people who had visited the youth hostel complained of seeing him. A few people from England recognized him, a guy who’d died there. he’d fallen from a high patio into the orchard below and died of a head injury. It spooks me. I’m not someone seeking out shit like this, it just happens. The guy would appear to people there. they’d awake feeling awful, shaken. They would leave the youth hostel. The local police believed the red-haired man had been murdered. Bad juju.
The worse ones began
I remember the first time I saw the little girl. It was June, 2006. I hadn’t experienced anything in five years. I was sleeping in my bed at home, in Tampa, Florida. I woke up and saw the girl at the foot of the bed. It was a silhouette of a girl about three feet tall. perfectly black, like an abyss. I closed my eyes and covered my head. I chose not to let it see me. And it got pissed. I started hearing things in the gloaming, the twilight sleep just as I lay down. Things outside the house, on the roof, above the drywall of the ceiling in my room. This went on every night. It felt like aliens.
One night I felt like I’d been abducted by greys. This was 1996. From 1992 to 1996, nothing had really happened, a couple of suffocations, nothing really consistent. I had gone to bed with a pen clipped to my shirt and felt myself drifting off to sleep when a ship deposited like eight big motherfuckers on the house and they were suddenly in the room, all over me. They turned my mind inside out and stabbed me with instruments. I awoke and the pen was gone. I felt like I was choking and was clawing at my neck. I thought the pen had punctured my throat. there was no pen there. I searched the room and couldn’t find the pen. I used to sleep with a pen clipped to my shirt and a notebook to record the dreams. I couldn’t find the pen, though I took the room apart looking for it.
Later that year I recorded a hair-raising EVP phenomena in my room – I was trying to record a radio program on cassette. The show featured a guest medium who was taking calls from people tormented by poltergeists. When I played the tape back all I could hear, all my girlfriend could hear, were crazy inhuman voices growling and spitting and yammering. I remember we panicked and bolted from the house. We were too afraid to go back inside and left. We didn’t go back home until we got some friends to stay over with us.
I went to Costa Rica and a man there told me I had a demon attached to me. He could see it. It was draining my life away. He didn’t offer any explanation or antidote. He said I was cursed.
I continued to see the little girl for the next ten years. Hotels, houses, tents, didn’t matter where. She was waiting to crush the life out of me. I always awoke feeling drugged, up through layers, aware that i was screaming, trying to ascend through thick layers of heavy asleep, trapped in my body, unable to get away. One night I awoke and attacked it, doing a flying helicopter kick that propelled me off the bed and crashing over the nightstand. I nearly kicked my wife in the face. It would’ve seriously injured her. I’m worried about acting out my struggle.
It happened last night. I was screaming. A little demon girl was digging my eyes out. My wife shook me awake and told me to stop screaming. I saw a group interested in stories like this, so I’m posting it, unedited. I’m afraid to dream, to sleep. I run marathons to utterly tire myself so I can’t even really dream anymore. Obviously I didn’t run yesterday or I would’ve been fine last night. This sucks ass.