It was after midnight when Emily thought she was waking up because of a car door slamming. She heard that muted yet crisp thump that certain sounds echoed when the temperatures dropped below freezing.
But she wasn’t awake.
And she wasn’t dreaming.
Something was pressing against her chest. Her arms were pinned down and her feet felt bound at the ankles. Her eyes wouldn’t, or couldn’t, open.
The scraping started at her neck. Claws or nails or needles were making at least a dozen scratches down her throat, over her shoulders, toward her elbows, stopping abruptly where the razor cuts began.
She couldn’t breathe.
The scraping started at her neck again and this time the claws gouged over her breasts and down her middle and down farther.
And stopped.
Emily struggled to open her eyes and when she thought she had, all she saw was pitch blackness. No street light glow, no flicker from the candle she left burning on the dresser.
Her whole body tingled with bubbles of adrenaline, rushing to all parts at once. If only she could move. What, or who, was holding her down?
Fear heaved through her small frame, rushing up from her feet, meeting the claws at her middle, and flooding up to her brain.
Fear made her gasp for air. She tried to break free of the demons that held her down.
A soft undertone of air or breath spoke words to her anxious soul. Be calm. Go back to sleep.
But instead she groaned.
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