Silent Nights and Sleep Demons

THE SHARP ICICLES OF WINTER ARE SINKING IN…

Recent temps have included 7, 12, and 19 degrees. Frost clings to windows and decaying grass. The frigid air nips at your nose. Everything is dead.

So, in this season of death, it seems like a good time to tell you a ghost story. Well, it’s really a story about sleep paralysis, but if you’ve experienced this totally haunting phenomenon, then you will probably agree that this is a ghost story.

Memory can be sly, especially when your brain is in the stages of REM and your mind is dancing between nightmares and reality. But trust that what I am about to tell you is the truth—at least as I remember it.

I have always been afraid of the dark.

At age 16, I slept with my bedroom door cracked so the hallway light could partially illuminate the dark corners of my room. My little sister (who was not terrified of the dark) was always highly annoyed by that hallway light, but I was the big sister, and I needed my sixty-watt nightlight!

For context, my childhood home is old, and my bedroom was on the third floor—an attic bedroom. Everyone knows that attic bedrooms are creepier than first or second floor bedrooms, but not quite as scary as basement bedrooms.

For as long as I could remember, my bedroom had strange vibes. I wouldn’t call it haunted, but there were times when I didn’t feel alone.

Once, my sister was hanging out in my room. I left to get something, and when I returned she screamed, “WHY IS YOUR BED SHAKING?”

I DON’T KNOW WHY THE BED WAS SHAKING.

Because my parents’ house is in the city, I had always assumed that the bed sometimes shook because of trucks. You’re probably thinking, “Trucks?” But sometimes in urban areas, heavy trucks can make the streets rumble, and that’s what I assumed was happening.

Another time, while waiting for sleep, I looked over at my Lil’ Bow Wow poster (shut it!) and gasped. Reflected in the glossy surface of the poster, a face with a sinister smile stared back at me. I think I passed out from fear. The next morning, I told myself that the shadows and reflection of the hallway light had arranged themselves perfectly to look like a face. Pareidolia.

You get it. Strange vibes in that space.

But the worst spooky thing happened when I was 16.

I don’t remember the exact day that this occurred. I don’t remember anything else about that day. Not what I ate or what I did. I don’t remember having a nightmare once I managed to fall asleep. (Whenever I reflect on this moment, I think it’s odd that I don’t remember having a nightmare or two that evening, because I had a lot of nightmares in my youth. I wouldn’t call them night terrors, but most mornings I woke up exhausted by whatever I had been battling during sleep.)

I remember that one moment I was sleeping and then suddenly I wasn’t.

I was alert—my ears picking up the sounds of my parents snoring from the floor beneath me.

My limbs were locked up, simultaneously numb and aching with fear.

The hairs on my body registered the coldness.  

My eyes rolled around in my head, desperate for my eyelids to open…or not…

Because it quickly occurred to me that I wasn’t alone.

I could feel it—something—lurking in the corner of my bedroom, right next to my closet door…the broken closet door that had a habit of popping open...  

My brain conjured an image of a man, large and balding, angry, and rendered in white and black like an old silent film. To scare you, I’m going to call him the black-and-white man.

The black-and-white man didn’t say anything.

But he stood there, simmering with malice and his brows arched in anger. He was enjoying my fright.

Because I couldn’t open my eyes, I couldn’t confirm that the black-and-white man was really there, but I felt his presence, and I knew that if I didn’t find a way to unfreeze my body, he might take a step closer to me.

I wanted to move my arms and legs, cry out and hope that my sister or parents would hear me and come running, but I couldn’t do anything. I’ve never felt so helpless.

In reality, the moment probably lasted 5-10 seconds, but that night felt like an eternity.

At some point, my body caught up to my brain. I jolted. My eyes snapped open and rolled wildly around the room, searching for the black-and-white man!

But I was alone.

With feeling and fear in my limbs, I sprinted out of the room. I had to get away from that closet! Or else the black-and-white man would snatch me up and pull me away to some dark otherworld!

I stumbled down the attic stairs and burst into my parents’ room. I shook them awake and told them about what I’d just experienced.

And…that’s it…

I don’t remember what happened after that.

I’m sure I wanted to sleep in my parents’ room, but it’s also possible that I made my way back upstairs to my own room after I calmed down. I probably convinced myself that it was a nightmare that had seeped into my waking moments.

After that night, I went to the internet because I was desperate for an explanation. The world wide web gave me answers. I learned about the lore behind sleep paralysis and sleep demons. I learned about The Hat Man and the witching hour.

I wanted to know what had caused the sleep paralysis so that I could prevent it from ever happening again…

But you can’t predict when sleep paralysis will happen—at least I couldn’t—and after that initial experience, sleep paralysis haunted me two more times.

Both experiences happened during my college years. The black-and-white man didn’t return, but in both instances, I still felt like someone or something was in the room with me.

All three sleep paralysis experiences were awful, and I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy. (Well…maybe a few.)

I’m now 38 years old, and I haven’t experienced sleep paralysis in over a decade but…

DO YOU KNOW WHO ELSE SUFFERS FROM SLEEP PARALYSIS?

Mystery James. In addition to her ability to smell ghosts, she’s plagued by a sleep demon that will not let her rest. Mystery isn’t visited by the black-and-white man.

Her sleep demon is inspired by something worse—this frightening spectacle from Black Veil, one of my favorite stores in Salem, MA.

At events, I’ve been asked at least three times if I’ve experienced sleep paralysis. Yes, I have, and I poured my own very real fear into Mystery James’ fictional experiences with her sleep demon.

If you’d still like to read about sleep paralysis—even after everything I’ve written here—take a look at this sneak peek from the pages of Mystery James Digs Her Own Grave.

If you need holiday gifts for young readers, contact Copper Dog Books in Massachusetts or Riverstone Books in Pennsylvania to inquire about signed stock.

Mystery James Digs Her Own Grave is spooky, but if you’re looking for something that’s extra scary, watch The Nightmare, a documentary about sleep paralysis.

As we slide toward the winter solstice, I hope you’ll sit for a spell and let a spooky story give you the chills. Happy holidays, friends.