[night·mare]
/ˈnītˌmer/
Noun:
- a frightening or unpleasant dream.

Heather has had "nightmares" before, but this was the first time Heather had dreamed of "HIM".
Actually she wasn't sure that it was a dream.
She was pretty sure, she could of been half asleep. It had been a long day of cleaning this apartment. Michael, was in the other room, watching sports: His recordings. Heather always went to bed early when he did that, even in their old place.
She hated sports.

In her "dream", it was like someone sucked the air out of the room, a faint feeling of ice, crawled over her skin, as HE standing at the end on her bed. He wasn't a man nor was he a complete shadow. His face, male and somewhat normal looking, but pale as marble. His crowded teeth, pointed and razor sharp like needles. Fingernails like glass, sharp and thin but clean cut.
Eyes dilated, black and cat-like - HIS palm and fingers were black, creature-like and long, but slender.

HE was smiling. He didn't look friendly or look foe....but in between.

Before Heather could say anything, he started crawling towards her, like a feral black cat and no break in eye contact.
Suddenly, HE became FOE, holding her down so she couldn't move, first it was her legs, then her hips, finally reaching her chest, pressing down, as she stayed silent, even hearing the tv noise in the living room - Michael was completely unaware what was happening to his wife.
No one could hear her as the shadow was crushing the bones beneath her soft skin and muscle
Like cheese being melted against a hot plate.
Heather could hear every crack against the pressure. It felt almost like he was trying to leave a indent of his handprint: his mark, or a symbol...using a hot cattle iron.

Seconds pasted. Heather was screaming - crying, her legs kicking underneath them. HE held her down - his hand still melting away her chest, it's lips on her neck. His hard cock inside of her. He was raping her, burning her, and all she could do was sob and beg.

Suddenly there was a window, the creature stopping to glance at a photo on the nightstand after he just came inside her, with a loud screech-like grunt.
It was Heather and Michael's wedding photo. HE was detracted, head turning as if to have a closer look, his hand reaching out for the frame.
Everything changed about HIM, everything, - even his black shadow, the smoke moving towards the photo.
Heather took her chance, breaking free as she reached for her bedside lamp.
The light clicked on

She woke up with a jolted, feeling relieved when HE vanished like smoke, thick, jet black.
Sweat and panic taunted her, just as her husband walked into the room, quietly, heading towards the bathroom door, unfazed once again: even was humming a tune.
Heather's breathing was harsh and desperate as she laid on her back, a stinking feeling spreading over her.
"It felt so real" she whispered, wrapping her hands around her - trying to be quiet and steady, even though her chest was still hurting and between her legs still burning.

She looked around for a second, the blue in her eyes adjusting to her surroundings. The room was silent, even the shadows were non moving, as the glow of the bathroom light offered some protection from her fears.

Heather sat up, pressing her back against the headboard, her new pillow offering little support, - it was just too soft, like a marshmallow. Turning her head, the red light of her alarm clock read: one-zero-five a.m.

She stared over the room, obsessive-compulsive disorder creeping in. Heather liked clean, no...she loved clean. Boxes still on the floor, stacked (neatly), in a row, along the far wall made her uncomfortable.
New, pressed, white sheets covered her body, a mirror in the left corner, tucked away behind her closet door, which was overflowing with clothes, most she hadn't worn.

Everything wasn't quite prefect just yet.

Michael started complaining within the first few hours they arrived, that there wasn't enough closet space for him in their old place, and that this apartment was repeting the cycle.

It was their second week here, and Heather could still hear the party-goers down below from the apartment.
She could hear everyone and everything. The neighbours were having a full blown domestic argument on the other side of the bedroom.
This town was strange already, with their slow walks and odd talk, but on the positive side, Heather and Michael scored a cheap rental - but it came with a price, mostly consisted of noisey neighbours and drunk teens (especially on Friday or Saturday nights.)
Heather promised her mother she wouldn't cry for the millionth time over their nightly two hour phone. Jeanne always answered her daughter's calls, day or night, despite she was finally getting her long awaited trip (honeymoon) to Spain with husband number FIVE .
Her father died when she was only eight days old - car crash - and Heather doesn't dwell on it anymore.
She promised her mom and new stepfather, that they would do well with their new jobs....with their new life.
Heather tried to sound convincing to her mom over the phone earlier that day, - She hugged Jeanne a little too long the day she left St Teale for Spain, and it worried them both, - now Heather had to admit to herself that she was having a hard time being this far away from her old life this time.

She finally remembered to breathe, letting reality come back into the room, as Michael clicked off the bathroom light, pulling off his shirt, remaining in just his underwear. She didn't mind that due to this hot summer.
"I got you baby" he winked, climbing into bed with her. She couldn't tell him about the dream - he wouldn't believe her. He was a logical man, always wanting a "normal" explanation with a side of humour.
He kissed her shoulder, before rolling back to his side of the bed, turning on his sidetable lamp, grabbing his book.
Michael always read before he slept. Usually Stephan King, but tonight Shakespeare.
His reading glasses, trimmed with black rims, gave him a soft look from his usual gym bunny look.
The man still had a library card in his wallet.....But she liked that about him, he was well-read, polite but protective.
"Heather. Stop staring at me" he said, peaking across at her, a soft smile.
She blushed, pulling the sheet upto her knees.
"Sorry" she mumbled, laying back down, rolling back onto her side after she turn off her lamp, leaving the room in half darkness.
Heather closed her eyes, after a few seconds or minutes, she heard Michael place his book down, turning off his light after he removed his glasses.
He was trying to find her in the cotton sheets of bed, wrapping an arm around her waist.
Michael kissed her again, this time on the neck.
"Don't worry baby. I've still got you. It's ok" he whispered, nuzzling her.
That is what Heather needed. Heather was craving sex, rolling over to face him and after a few kisses, they made love.
It was calming - a relief

By four a.m. Heather, hot and uncomfortable, could feel herself drift to sleep. With the sheet barley covering her naked body, she swore that HE was standing in the other side of the room, beside Michael's desk.
His hand on the edgy of the corner, claws digging into the wood.
The strain in the knuckles obvious
HE was watching them, HE was unhappy, almost jealous....and she realised as she forced her eyes shut, trying to block it out, that it wasn't a dream....