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2715 14.7 KB 151
2715 14.7 KB 151
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[Originally at https://pastebin.com/PTexBMPQ, story by https://pastebin.com/u/PonySamsa ]
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>You open your eyes to a beam of sunlight in your face, resting directly on your eyes.
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>With a grunt and an strangely painful exertion of your arm, you lift it up and throw it over your face, protecting your eyes from the blinding beam.
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“Guh. Did I fuckin’ sleep on my arm or something? Why’s it hurt so damn much?”
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>Shifting about in the bed for a minute, you stretch your other arm, which hurts with a similar ache, and your legs, which follow suit.
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>Whatever you did in your sleep, your whole body was paying the price for it.
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>You take a mental tally of your activities before going to bed.
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>It was Friday night, so you hung out with your friends, shooting the shit, playing games, and sneaking away with your latest fling for some quick makeouts, leaving your friends to drink.
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>You didn’t expect this relationship to last much longer, but damned if you weren’t down for some heavy-petting any day of the week. You were a red-blooded male after all.
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>She was cute, but a member of one of those weird-ass “covens” as she called it. Some new-age bullshit.
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>At least they encouraged wearing black makeup and all that jazz. That shit was hot.
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>”Anon! It’s already past noon, and you have mail!”
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>You groan and flop out of bed, groaning harder as your muscles protest, feeling like you ran an entire damn marathon.
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>With only a few mistakes and misses, you eventually get some underpants on and stumble down the hall to the kitchen and flop down on a chair at the table.
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>”Good heavens, man, you look beat. Is this a good exhausted or a bad exhausted? Your friends didn’t see you after you disappeared with Samara.”
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>Samara was your girlfriend. The new-age coven girl. Looked Asian, actually wasn’t. A pretty good combo, altogether.
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>The fellow asking the questions was your roommate, Chadwick. Straight-laced fellow, but nice. He never took part in your parties, but he didn’t stop you and he didn’t complain. He even woke you up when you overslept like today.
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>He was just full of good intentions all around, but he was honestly rather boring. He wanted to be an accountant.
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>Chadwick, who adamantly refused to be called Chad, handed you your mail, and you take it, only dropping it once before you manage to see who it’s from.
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>”It looks like financial aid, unless I miss my guess. If you need textbooks for the semester, I’d recommend depositing that today. Classes start up on Tuesday next week.”
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>Good old Chadwick, always keeping you up to date.
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“Thanks, Chadwick. I’ll do that once I’ve had breakfast, and no, nothing ‘fun’ happened between me and Samara beyond some light groping. I’m pretty sure I just slept wrong. My muscles hurt like a bitch all over.”
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>Chadwick looks you up and down. You aren’t wearing a shirt, and your shorts only cover the requisite manly amount.
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>”Hm. No bruising, so probably too much tensing during sleep. Might be caused by bad dreams or anxiety. If it persists, I’d see a professional, but a single night is probably fine.”
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>Good old Chadwick, making sure you were healthy. Too bad he never shared his food. It always smelled absolutely delicious.
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>Like that omelette he was cooking right now. Delicious.
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>You suspected the man could cook up a storm.
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“I should be fine. It’ll go away soon enough.”
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>You prepare yourself some cold cereal, eating your sugary part of a balanced breakfast, and stumble back to your room to get dressed.
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>God your muscles ache.
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>With minor difficulty, you wrangle some wranglers on and awkwardly slip inside a shirt. You look down at it and realize it didn’t belong to you, but you just shrug and pull on your denim jacket.
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>You check your many pockets for all your necessary devices, doing you daily spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch, then pull on your sneakers and step outside.
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>It was a bright and sunny day, but thankfully that’s why god invented sunglasses, and you slip some on before wandering down the sidewalk.
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>You and Chadwick had a nice place not too far from the school campus. An easy ten minute walk at most.
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>It wasn’t too expensive when shared, but you’d never be able to afford it alone.
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>Good old Chadwick.
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>It was a skinny complex situated in between two larger shops close to downtown where campus was. >You and Chadwick were the only two tenants, with no upstairs or downstairs.
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>You weren’t sure how much longer it would last, but you enjoyed it for now.
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>The landlady wasn’t a bother, and she was SUPER old.
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>Like, beef-jerky how-are-you-still-alive old.
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>She made sure everything worked, so no complaints yet again.
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>You meander down the sidewalk, taking it slow to be kind to your aching body, and eventually deposit your financial aid check.
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>On your way back home you pick up a few necessities, like more beer, chips, and some tacos.
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>You stumble back inside the house, put away your groceries, and settle down at your computer to watch some movies while you eat.
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>Halfway through your food you get a message from Nick, one of your friends from the party last night, thanking you for hosting and asking how the night went with Samara.
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>You think back on the party, trying to remember how things exactly had gone with Samara.
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>It was a bit of a drunken blur, you admit.
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>Drinking was a bit of a bad habit for you, and you had always been a bit of a lightweight, so it was easy to hit the point where you didn’t remember anything.
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>You ask him what he meant, and he responds quickly telling you that the two of you had disappeared, and after a couple more hours, everyone agreed it was best to leave you two alone, since you obviously weren’t coming back out.
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>Weird.
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>That wasn’t like you at parties.
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>Samara must have left before you woke up. Not hard, since you hadn’t gotten up until like, 1:00pm.
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>You fire off a quick text at her, then get back to your food.
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>If she was mad, no big deal, but you hope you didn’t have drunk sex. Last thing you need is an accidental pregnancy.
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>You put down the phone, click play, and get gently buzzed in the late afternoon waiting for a reply.
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>But nothing comes.
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>That was weird as well.
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>She was almost always glued to her phone, which honestly bothered you a little, but it wasn’t like her to let a text, especially from her ‘tacky-pants’ hug-friend, go unanswered.
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>You weren’t as attached to her as she seemed to be to you, so you just shrugged and went back to your movies.
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>True to form, you didn’t do anything productive for the rest of the day, and just played games and watched movies until it was super late at night.
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>Looking at the clock, it was glowing 2:00am, so you decide now was as good a time as any to fall asleep.
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>You brush your teeth, take a piss, then flop into bed, passing out almost immediately.
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>Weekends were fuggin’ great.
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>An impact startles you awake and you struggle to sit up. Your limbs feel heavy, and numb, and you only succeed in rolling your head into something hard.
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“Ow, fuck!”
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>Your voice sounded strange, but you’re a bit panicked at the moment so you don’t notice it.
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>Your vision was blurry and dark, you can’t quite make out where you are or what you’re looking at, you can’t move properly, and now your head hurts.
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>With some difficulty, you get onto your stomach and get your arms underneath you.
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>Your hands are slightly numbs and feel like they’re balled into fists, but you eventually manage, and you attempt to crawl back into bed.
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>You shakily fumble around in the dark for the edge of the bed, a hefty north slope in your current state, seemingly several feet above you.
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>Once you have it, you crawl up and into bed, cursing under your breath.
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>Your muscles burn and ache, and you understand what must have happened last night to cause you so much pain in the morning.
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>No wonder Samara left so early.
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>You must have been a shitty partner to sleep next to.
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>Crawling under the covers, you try to get comfortable, but the burning in your limbs won’t go away.
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>You stretch out, trying to ease the pain, and you bump something.
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>Check that.
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>SomeONE.
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>An icy chill runs through you.
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>Who the FUCK broke into your house?
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>Who the FUCK crawls into someone’s bed instead of stealing something?
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>…wait…
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>WHO THE FUCK IS WATCHING YOU SLEEP!?
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>Moving extremely slowly and carefully, trying not to alert the person who had managed to sneak into bed with you, you reach out for the lamp and mash the switch with your oddly numb fist.
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>The lights come on, and past your weirdly-coloured and strangely large nose, you see yourself, sleeping in bed.
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>A thin sheen of sweat covers your face, dripping onto the pillow beneath your head. Your breathing is ragged and your mouth is open, a pained expression on your face.
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>You’re stunned for only a moment, but you feel panic once again welling up inside you.
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>You scream a high-pitched scream, which quickly turns into a lower-pitched yell as you sit up in bed in a cold sweat, looking frantically around the room.
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>You turn to your right and see nothing and no one in bed with you.
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>You wince as that same ache in your muscles from yesterday morning is there again.
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>You rub your limbs as your eyes flick around the room, looking for anything out of place, or anyone else in the room with you at all.
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>Your eyes linger on every shadow cast by your bedside lamp, trying to see if something is hiding in them.
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>Finding nothing, your breathing starts to slow down to a normal rate, your heart thudding less heavily against your chest.
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>You switch the lamp off and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, barely blinking unless you have to, trying to process that fucked up dream.
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>After thoughts race through your mind for a few minutes, you start feeling tired again and your eyes drift closed.
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>Just as you feel sleep reaching for you, your eyes snap open again in panic.
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>THE LIGHT WAS ON.
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>You struggle to quell the rising panic.
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>Surely you just turned it on yourself in some sort of dexterous somnambulist trick.
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>Your head turns to look at the bedside lamp, and you try to mentally justify the fact that it had been on.
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>The switch was on the base of the lamp, and it could indeed be switched on by some clumsy mashing with a hand during sleep.
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>It was rather firm, and you’d generally assume there would need to be a bit more than just accidental pressure for it to turn on, but the thought of an accident eased your tired and panicked mind.
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>You accept the explanation for now, but despite all your efforts, sleep doesn’t come for some time, wayward thoughts flitting to and fro keeping you awake until the wee hours of the morning.
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>Eventually you hear Chadwick yelling at you that you’ve slept in too long again.
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>You’re half of a mind to tell him to shove it, but you don’t like sleeping in too long and missing the day, so you pull yourself up, wincing at the stiff muscles you once again have.
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>You do some basic stretches and a brief bit of on-the-spot cardio, hoping it will help, then head down to get breakfast.
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>Chadwick is there making himself lunch.
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>He looks at you and frowns.
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>”You look even worse than yesterday Anon. Are you sure you’re alright?”
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“God, after last night, I fucking don’t know. I dreamed I was literally beside myself. Like one of those out-of-body experiences people keep talking about. Gave me a bit of a fright, if I’m honest.”
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>You pull out some cinnamon toast crunch and pour yourself a simple bowl of cereal yet again, while Chadwick prepares some sort of curry.
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>The dude should really share.
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>”Well take care of yourself, and remember what I said yesterday. If it keeps up, get some professional help, they’re paid to help with these things.”
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“Yeah, I know. I’ll see how the rest of the week goes. I’m hoping it’s just temporary, caused by stress or food or something.”
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>”Well, take care of yourself Anon. No one else can.”
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>Chadwick picks up his bag and heads out the door, leaving you alone.
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>You finish your breakfast and head back into your room, playing some video games for a bit.
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>After a while you start getting a prickling on the back of you neck and your eyes keep flicking to the lamp and bed.
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>After last night, you don’t really feel much like being alone at the moment, so you call up Nick to see if he wants to hang out.
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>Sadly he can’t, so you call the other guys one at a time to see if anyone can hang out.
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>One by one, you get shot down by each of them. You suspect because of the conspicuous lack of alcohol.
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>Fair-weather friends those, except for Nick. You’d known him since your first day at college.
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>Nick was just busy right now.
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>Well, guess it was just you and your thoughts. You still hadn’t gotten a text back from Samara, so you’d probably offended her somehow.
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>Whatever.
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>You hadn’t yet hit that, but it wasn’t going to last anyway.
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>You try to occupy yourself with video games for the rest of the day, and you are for the most part successful, but as night approaches you start getting anxious.
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>You’d have to sleep, and that meant the creepy-ass dream might happen again. Since your muscles felt the same way two nights in a row, you just assumed something similar had happened that first night.
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>You put it off as long as you could, but eventually you shut everything down at 2:50am and rolled into bed.
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>Despite your fears, you were tired enough after your poor sleep the night before that it didn’t take you long to start to drift off.
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>That familiar barrier between sleep and waking started to encroach upon your consciousness when you suddenly get a severe feeling of vertigo.
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>Panic hits you and you try to wake up, but your limbs aren’t responding properly.
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>Movement is sluggish and weak, and your voice sounds like you’re underwater.
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>It all lasts for only about ten seconds, then you gasp for air as the wind is knocked out of you and you sit up, choking on air.
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>Your muscles no longer hurt, which is the first thing you notice, and your limbs are responding, but your hands feel like they’re balled up into fists that you can’t unclench.
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>You fumble for the light again, now a little scared that you know you aren’t dreaming and it happened again.
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>You manage to slap the switch and the light turns on, confirming your worst fears.
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>Your body was lying there in bed, chest slowly rising and falling thankfully, but if you were out here, were you actually dreaming?
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>You reach out to poke yourself, and notice the second weird thing of the night: Your hoof.
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>That’s really the best way to describe it.
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>Your arm and hand had become a pastel-colored cylinder that ended in a horse’s hoof.
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>Seriously.
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>This had to be a dream.
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“What in the everloving fuck-“
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>That voice was distinctly not yours, but it came out of you.
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>Or at least, where “You” currently seemed to be.
by PTFG
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