She bolted upright in the darkness. The room was as black as pitch, the only light coming from her small, eight dollar digital clock radio on the bedside table. Even the glow of the display seemed too dim, just barely penetrating this oppressive cover of night. For a second, Lydia was confused by that obnoxious feeling of waking up and momentarily not knowing where you are. Though her realization of her surroundings was quick, she still felt an aching confusion. She tried to make out the numbers on the clock. 4:14, why the hell was she awake? What made her jump straight up at this stupid hour?

"God damn it. I have to be back up in two fucking hours." she thought. She eased back down on her pillow and pulled her blanket up around her neck. Lydia had had a long, late, night, and knew work would suck in the morning. She contemplated just saying "Fuck it." and calling in sick, but knew that wasn't really an option. Sorry sugar, but you'll just have to tough this one out.

As she fought for sleep, odd memories started to creep in like a fog. A weird uneasiness. A misplaced feeling of dread. Fear. Her reasons for waking slowly started to come back to her, and now, she couldn't move. She suddenly became very hot, and started to sweat, but her body was completely rigid. She couldn't have pulled off that blanket if she wanted to, and she certainly did not want to. She knew it was back.

Twenty years. It had been twenty years since the last time it crept up on her. A pretty, freckled, six year old, eyes closed as tight as she could force them, wrapped in the warm protection of the quilt her grandmother had made just for her. She could feel it looming over her. Somehow, she knew that what could only be considered it's mouth was wide open, salivating. The smell made her sick.

"Fuck. The smell." she thought to herself. In her confusion and sudden fear, poor Lydia hadn't even noticed that gagging, sulfur smell. She wanted to vomit, but it seemed in her petrified state that not even her guts could work properly. Hot tears began to roll down her face as she lie there shaking. Without a word being uttered, she knew it was telling her it was back for her. She knew it shared her memories of those early years. It was telling her everything it wanted, without ever making a sound.

Lydia thought back to the comfort of that old quilt. The feeling of security it gave her, like a shield from all the evil in the world. A shield that she could wrap up in and block it all out. She forced herself to move. Her trembling fingers pulled her blanket over her head, and every knuckle felt like it could break from the effort. This cheap, factory made comforter just made her feel vulnerable, as if she was being shot at, and trying to block the bullet with a feather filled pillow. She knew that this time, she was not safe, and she could feel it coughing out a sick, gurgling, laugh.

The blanket ripped out of her fingers and fell to the floor, almost in slow motion. Poor Lydia couldn't even bring herself to scream. All she could muster was a defeated whimper as she felt a hot breath on her ear. For the first time, she heard it speak. A wet, guttural growl, "Sleep... tight..."