I wake up.  I wasn’t dreaming, but I was thinking of something – trying to work something out. 

            What was I thinking about?  Probably nothing really...

            I look out the window.  It’s still dark.  3:31 on the clock radio.  The TV and bedside lamp are still on from when I went to bed, but I am too tired to do anything about them.  I turn to face the wall, and close my eyes.  Thinking, thinking about thinking, nonsensical, disjointed...  How many legs are -

            A sharp intake of air and my eyes snap open.  I must have been dosing, but I think I forgot to breathe.  I lie still for a while, and try to relax.  Thoughts, disjointed, nonsensical...  How many legs are there -

            Another sharp breath inwards and I’m awake again.  How can I forget to breathe?  This won’t do.

            I turn around to face the room instead, and lying with my eyes open for less than a minute, I get a sinking feeling accompanied by a fuzzing sound in my head.  My face seems to be vibrating too.  And now my chest.  It’s getting worse, and I feel like I’m being engulfed by it.  I can hear my heart racing.  I need to get up.  I can’t move though.  Not this again.  I panic, and am twitched out of it. 

            That was close.

            I close my eyes and hope that it was a one off. 

            Then the sinking, fuzzing, vibrating, racing heart again.  Not good.  I open my eyes, but again can’t move.  Panic, then twitched awake.  No, not good at all.

            I know I should just relax into it to forget that it’s happening.  That way, with a bit of luck, I’ll have a quiet night.  I close my eyes again, and try to envisage somewhere hot, sunny, and far away.  Sinking, fuzzing, vibrating.  Increasing.  I keep my eyes closed, and try to persevere, but I feel that there’s some dreadful darkness clouding my mind.  I try to stick with it.  I open my eyes, and the buzzing and vibrating fade.  Good.  Hopefully soon, I’ll get a bit of peace.

             I'm lying there, looking around the room - the bookshelf, then the wardrobe, then -  Something's amiss.  Everything seems to be off centre, and verging on distorted.  I don’t feel like I normally do either.  I hear the TV, but there is other noise rising in the background – a whispering, mumbling.  And this is when I know I definitely need to get up and out of bed.  But I can’t.  I'm paralysed again, and beyond the point of no return this time.  And I just have to give in to it like I always do.

             I see the smartly dressed boy with the dark side-parted hair, pale grey face, black eyes, and thin neck, emerging from behind my chest of drawers.  And to my right there’s a taller figure at the bottom of my bed.  It’s only in my peripheral vision, but I know it’s the jowly old nurse woman with the white whiskers, and opaque light blue skin.  All I can do is lie there.

             Smiling, the boy walks towards the old woman.  He is holding a small, red velvet cushion on which is somehow vertically balanced a featureless shining silver object, across between a pyramid, and an obelisk in shape.  The boy starts making an “EEEEEEEEEEEEEE” noise.  He has more than one voice.  As he passes in my view, I can see his smile growing, and eyes widening in anticipation. 

             “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

              I see the old woman move to greet the boy.  She walks around, and sits down on the bottom of my bed.  This only makes the view I have of her slightly clearer, but I can see her taking the cushion from the boy, and lift the object from it.  Then I feel her leaning on my legs.  I try to turn to get up, but she shooshes me, and I submit as usual.  She moves up to lean on my back, then uses the silver object to violate my front.

            “Good lad!” she says to me with her gruff voice, “Up and down, in and out.”  She grunts as she does her 'work'.

            The boy’s eyes widen more, and he's still smiling.  He has been making the noise now for about thirty seconds, and hasn't breathed in once.

            “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

            The violation goes on.  As usual, physically there isn’t much discomfort - apart from the pressure from the old woman leaning on my back - but the idea of what might be happening to my genitals still doesn’t sit well with me – I’ve never gotten used to it.

            And it’s always slightly different on each occasion too.  This time, the old woman is calling out numbers, “1, 5, 20,” and then louder, “twenty-six!”

            I can hear some cheers of encouragement, and see that the shadowy blue figures are now lining the walls of my room, clapping half-heartedly.

            The boy continues.  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”  Same volume, same pitch, on and on.

            I’ve had enough – they’ve had enough.  I turn around, and I ask the old woman, “Can I get up now?  Will you let me up?  Please?”

            The noise from the boy stops.  His eyes are still wide, and he is still smiling.

            The old woman says nothing, and lets me go.  I rise abruptly, causing her to look up at me with a slightly fretted expression.  She even looks a little ashamed.

            I walk towards the mirror on my wall to finish the ritual.  When I get there, and look at my reflection, it’s grinning widely, but I’m not.  It’s almost mocking me, and I know why - the impending revelation of how much further they’ve got with me is only seconds away.  The room is whispering, mumbling, in anticipation.  I turn away from the mirror, and brace myself. 

           I imagine that when I look again, my features will only be slightly more askew than after the last violation.  I turn back for a shock though. The top of my head is distended high, and the hair on it is sparse.  My mouth is elongated diagonally across most of my face - gnarly-toothed, and foaming - and my eyes are wide and bloodshot – the irises pale, and the pupils only pinpricks.  Tears are streaming down my grey-green wrinkled face into two long, seeping nostrils.  My neck is long and skinny, and I feel I can’t breathe.  This is the worst it’s ever been.

            I strain to shout, and two, three voices of different pitches come from my now widening mouth in a rising groan.  I look closer at my neck, and see through its paper thin skin that it contains at least three larynxes.  My groan continues to rise until it’s a desperate, pleading cry, and the rest in the room are mimicking it in awe, clapping.  It sounds like a dischorded choir of ascending voices, with the boy’s the highest in pitch - apart from my own which has become a shrill, whistling wheeze.  I’m frightened enough to get out of this now, and know if I turn away it’ll be over.  I turn away.

            But it’s not over.  I’m still in the room with the pale boy, the old woman, and the shadowy figures, and they have been joined by a slender, darkly-dressed lady of about fifty.  I’ve never seen her before.  Her hair is long and black, and she wears dark lipstick and eye-makeup to match.  Her eyes are black, and skin pale grey like the boy’s.  She looks elegant and motherly.

            She says to me, “Don’t go.  Come see what we have for you.”

            Her voice is comforting, and her words calm me a little.  She holds out her hand to me.  I take it. 

            Once more, I'm giving in.

            The room fades, and I find myself outside under a black, misty sky in the park at the end of our street.  Me, the pale boy, the elegant lady, the old woman, and the other shadowy blue figures are standing beside what I call the “smartie” street-light.  Its lamp post tapers up quite high and doesn’t bend - the light just sits at the top making it look like a lolly-pop.  But the light itself is shaped like a big Smartie on its side.  It’s not switched on, but it emits a low humming noise. 

            This light has chased me before, and it always gets as far as somehow grabbing me before I escape.  I’m normally afraid to go near the park to walk past it, but I’m standing right beside it now, looking straight at it, and am not really that scared.

            Other lights have chased me too: a Wombles lantern in my bedroom when I was a child, and the pull-down dining room light with the flat metallic disk-shaped shade - all coming down to get me; wanting to envelop me; to take me. 

            But the smartie-light in the park was the first and worst - the king and queen of them all.

             “Will you go back on the Nith, special Ugly Son?” the elegant lady asks me.

             I look at her, then back up to the smartie-light.  It’s now slightly bigger and looming.  Now I’m getting scared.  I look back to the lady again, and think about her question.

             Go back on the Nith. They're calling it that because of the noise it makes when it chases me... “nnnNNNNIIIIITHTHTHTHTHTH”  Go back on it?  Well I suppose that at the moment, I don't feel that I belong anywhere in life, and haven’t done so for a long time.  Then again, I wouldn't feel at home with the Nith Light either. 

            I look at the light again, and it's huge now.  I glance at the rest of them, then give in to the compulsion to flee.

            As I begin to run, I look back to see the Nith Light starting to move - its humming rising in pitch to its “nnniiithththth” noise.  The lady and the rest of them aren’t chasing me - I can see them waiting behind. 

            I keep running along the street towards my house.  I need to get back to a mirror to end this. 

            I am nearly there, and now a good distance from the Nith Light.  When I get to the front door, I struggle with the key.  I look back, and the Nith is now on its way up the driveway.  It’ll grab me, and then I don’t know what next.  I’ll perhaps be consumed by it forever.

            I finally get the door open.  Relief.  I run straight down to the bathroom mirror, and look at myself.  I immediately see my neck elongate, and my mouth turn down grotesquely at one side.  My eyes are closed in the reflection, and they quickly droop down too.  My nose becomes two long nostrils, oozing mucous.  My skin is wrinkling and greening lightly in patches.  The top of my head starts to distend high, higher, and the hair on it thins.

            Then my neck splits in two, three.  I squeeze out a stifled multi-toned scream which increases in pitch, and also in volume.  My mouth then hideously elongates diagonally, foaming.  It opens wide, wider, until the skin tears, and my bottom jaw drops into the sink in a flopping wet mess, leaving three wheezing neck holes.  There is no blood.  My tongue hangs out of my middle neck, then slides out, long and slithering.  It breaks off, falling onto the bathroom floor.  The teeth on my top jaw start to fall out.  Then my eyes in the mirror open and bulge outwards – pale and bloodshot.  Tears stream from them, and the left one pops from its socket.  I can hear the Nith coming down the hall and it's droning outside the door now.

            "nnNNNNIIIIITHTHTHTHTH"

            In the mirror, what's left of my head starts to get sucked into the three neck holes.  I am completely petrified, and as usual when my fear gets to this level, it allows me to escape.

            I am on my bed again, crying out a little, but I stop panicking almost straight away.  When these experiences first started happening, the dread used to linger, but these days, I am always just glad to be back safe.

            The TV is still on – darts coverage.  “And Martin Adams to finish this final leg of five. Five and double top.  5, 20, 10.  Thirty-five!”  Some cheers of encouragement.  Half-hearted clapping.

            The bedside lamp is still on too, but I notice that it’s bright outside, and switch it off.  I look at the clock radio.  4:55.  I was gone for a good while this time.

            Turning over, I stretch, hoping this will waken me fully.  But I’m still exhausted.  I lie with my eyes open for a minute or so, then once again, the darts coverage is intermingled with the other noise – the fuzzing, the whispering, the mumbling.

            I try to lift my head, and can’t. 

            But then I move my arm in front of me. 

            I find that I am able to raise myself up.  I turn and sit on the side of the bed.  The noise hasn’t stopped though, and the room doesn’t feel right, and I don’t feel normal.  My face and chest are vibrating again.  My heart is racing.  I panic, and am jolted back to the bed where I was before.  I lie still, and try to relax.  I listen to my heartbeat.  It’s not racing at all; it’s slow and steady.  And I know I shouldn't panic.

            The sinking feeling again.  Then the fuzzing, vibrating, whispering, mumbling.  Intensifying. 

              I won’t let them come to me again though.  They can't because it’s daytime outside, and this one's for me.  I'll take control.

             I get out of my bed, but my feet don’t touch the ground. I am standing in mid-air in the room.  Things again feel different than normal, but there’s no distortion as such, just a bright gleaming freshness to everything, and the only noise now is a crisp fizzing which fades to gentle breeze.  

             I rise to my window.  It’s narrow and only half open, but this won’t matter.  I go past it, and stop at the ceiling.  I look down at my bed where I lay below, then pass through the ceiling and roof.  I am outside in the light.

             I float above the back garden for a few seconds, and then I ascend further, over my house, then higher still.  I fly along my street to the park.  I sail over its greenery, under the sun.  I pass over the now pathetic and harmless looking smartie-headed street-light, leaving it behind with ease.

             Past the park, I land on the road and run straight to her house.  The door is open, and I push on in - I don’t care who else is there, as long as she is.  She is.  She is rushing up the hall to see what's making the noise.  When she sees it’s me, she stops, and looks at me with her deep-blue, gazing eyes.  She seems slightly annoyed, but perfectly surprised.  I stare back, and look her up and down.  She is standing barefooted with painted red toenails, and is wearing a red and pink flowery summer dress which hugs every part of her slim figure.  Sublime.

             She shakes her head, baffled at why I'm there in her house.  A strand of wavy brown hair clumsily falls into her face, accentuating her beauty for me.  She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head, waiting for an explanation, so I walk over and grab her round the waist, and bring my lips to hers.  She returns my kiss and embrace, clinging onto my back.  I bring her against the wall, and as I crush her into me, she lets out a little sighing moan.  The golden yellow sunlight pours in on us, and I feel a bliss which lets me know that this is where I belong as long as I'm on this planet; this is home.

   
                The sunshine in her hall changes to morning time in my room as I am fizzled back onto my bed once again.  I lie there, overwhelmed with euphoria.

                Did she feel it too?  Was she really there with me?  Maybe later today, I’ll go into the park, and past the now harmless smartie-light to her house to tell her about it. 

                Or maybe I’ll just let her go, and allow the Nith to take me like it’s supposed to.