Face to Face - Poem

Face to Face

Marcus woke with a jolt—though he couldn’t move.

He was frozen. Trapped beneath his own skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, heart thundering like a war drum. His eyes flicked about in the dark, and that was all he could control. No arms. No legs. Not even a whisper from his throat.

He knew this sensation. Sleep paralysis. It had happened before. He hated it every time.

But this time felt different.

The room was too quiet. The air too thick. Every shadow along the walls seemed to stretch longer than it should, curling like tendrils toward his bed. And something—something—was in the room with him.

He couldn’t see it.

Not at first.

Then he heard the breath.

Hot and slow.

Right beside his ear.

His eyes shifted as far as they could, straining to catch a glimpse without moving. Nothing.

Then… a weight.

The mattress dipped at the foot of the bed. Slowly. Deliberately. As if someone—or something—had crawled into bed with him.

Marcus screamed internally, but his body remained stone.

The weight crept upward, closer, each movement silent and smooth. He could feel it nearing his legs, his stomach, his chest. The pressure wasn't crushing—but it was purposeful, claiming space.

And then he saw it.

A face. Inches from his own.

Not human.

Its skin was the color of ash, stretched too tight over a skull that was almost… smiling. Its eyes were coal-black, sunken deep into the sockets, but wide and alive—burning with hunger.

Its mouth hung open, slack and dripping.

And it was watching him. Studying him.

Marcus tried again to move. To twitch a finger, blink rapidly, anything. Nothing responded. His breath came in short bursts now. He wanted to pass out. He wanted to wake up.

But he was trapped—with it.

The demon’s head tilted, slowly, like a dog trying to understand a new sound. Then it whispered, its breath sour and cold:

“You see me now.”

Marcus’s eyes welled with tears.

The creature’s grin widened, its lips cracking and peeling as it leaned closer.

“I’ve always been here.”

He could feel its hand now—bony fingers trailing gently down his cheek, pressing lightly on his throat. Not choking. Not yet.

Just reminding him who held control.

Then, it spoke again, lower now, with something resembling glee.

“You only pretend to sleep.
But I know when you’re truly helpless.”

It placed its head beside his on the pillow, never breaking eye contact.

“And that’s when I come to listen.”

Marcus tried again to scream—to thrash, to run, to breathe.

And then…

The demon vanished.

Just like that. Gone. The weight lifted. The breath evaporated. The shadows receded.

And Marcus could move.

He shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat, choking down air like he’d been drowning. He scrambled for the light, flicked it on, and searched every corner of his room.

Empty.

But the pillow beside him was still indented.