Nightmare

Was I awake, or still dreaming? The confusion was deeply unsettling.

Out of the darkness, a figure took shape, draped in a black cloak—an aquiline face framed by a raven beard and moustache, its eyes glimmering with baleful intent. The Stygian night curled around it, lending the apparition a haunting, almost infernal presence.

The sight nearly unmanned me; my heart skipped a beat.

The apparition was gone in the blink of an eye. Yet it drove me to scream in terror, my distressed voice shattering the silence of the night.

No fully awake and my senses benumbed by pills, I was incapable of acting coherently such as turning the light on to dispel my fears.

My palms were clammy, my eyes probed nervously the inky darkness. I felt disoriented, unable to distinguish what was real from what was not.

How long did I remain in this state? All I know is that it was daybreak and the first light of dawn pierced through the window curtains, and the cold of the night seeped through my quilt and I began to feel its bite.