When I wake up, there's a slight tremor through my hands. I'm shaking, my body tense and I can feel the light, cool sheen of sweat that coats my skin. I had that dream again, that nightmare. The one I can't fully remember but brings about visions of long sharp claws and voluminous, monstrous wings. And eyes. Deep eyes of ink that drill into my skin and drown me. Pitch black and endless, I swear I can see them everywhere in the darkness of my room. Lingering right at the corners of my sight, disappearing before I can completely see them...

I close my eyes and wait the seconds, the minutes, the eternities it takes to relax. To stop my heart from thudding out of its cage and my muscles from permanently freezing in their tensed positions. The eternity it takes to even my breathing and relax. Relax and fall back asleep.

Except, I can't. There's a deep chill throughout the room, permeating everything. Even my blankets were no protection from this kind of cold. It was too cold to sleep. Too cold to ignore. Too cold...even for this time of year. Too cold even for the night. So cold it leeches the warmth from my skin and attaches to my very bones.

Nightmare cold.

My eyes snap open for the second time that night but this time, lay fixed on the window right above me. The beautiful, large window with glass that distorted the pale beams of moonlight and the soft glow of stars. The glass that separated me from the coiling night and the monsters beyond. The glass that was not there, in a window that was horribly, gapingly open.

And I began to shake again. To tremble in silent agony and fear as I see on the sill of my window, the silhouette of a creature that should not exist. The silhouette of the demon that stalked my dreams and crawled in the darkest shadows of my thoughts and mind. The silhouette of a creature that made its way slowly, tortuously slowly, through my window and into my room. The temperature plummets even further.

My eyes dilate and my breath comings out in silent, little gasps that feel more like accidental spasms than the need to breathe. One claw makes its way in, then another. They bury themselves into the wall, securely anchoring the monster as it peaks its head in. Its gaze sweeps to the left, to the right, looking for something before suddenly snapping down. Down at me. Down at my quaking hands and fear-struck body and down at my eyes filled with a terror so consuming I can't move. Can't blink. Can't cover my eyes and count to ten and pretended this never happened. Can't do anything but stare right back up into eyes of ink and endlessness. And we stay there forever.

When I wake up, there's a slight tremor through my hands. I'm shaking, my body tense and my nerves shot.  I had that nightmare. The one I can't fully remember but reminds me of eyes. Deep eyes of ink that drill into my skin and drown me. But I do remember this time: I do. I do, and it's so real I can still feel its lifeless stare look into me and burn me. So real that when I look at my window, I jerk in surprise to find it closed. Closed and locked and with holes in the wall where long, jagged claws dug in and stayed.

I can't scream. I can't. Because it was all a dream a nightmare and demons and monsters don't exist in this world and they don't exist in my life. But there were the marks to prove it. That it was here. That maybe, I never dreamt of this creature but it was, in fact, real all along. So very, frighteningly real, lurking in the darkest corners of my room, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and slit my throat and let the floor stain red with my blood. Real.  So real. So horrifyingly real that I tore my entire room apart looking for it but found nothing. Empty.  Everything was empty.

Now, one might think I would have told someone, or changed rooms, or maybe moved to another house all together. But I couldn't. It would follow me, diligently and unfailingly, everywhere I went. It still does. The creature resides in my every thought, lives in my every breath, sees through my very eyes and so I'm not surprised when wings sprout from my back and claws grow from my hands and my eyes bleed blackened blood that stains them forever. And I'm not surprised when I look in the mirror and see my throat torn out, flesh ripped from my arms and legs and blood that paints the floor a liquid, crimson red.

The creature was real, all right. I start cackling and laughing in a twisted voice that doesn't quite sound like my own. Very much real and very much alive and very much inside me. Reveling as my soul twists and chokes and burns alive.

But it's okay. I know I won't remember this when I wake up.